Extreme Ways
by mareine
Summary: Desperate for revenge after everything Dumbledore put him through, Harry runs to his enemies. Set after OotP. Eventual SLASH LV/HP.
1. Wrought Iron Gates

**Summary:** Desperate for revenge after everything Dumbledore put him through, Harry runs to his enemies.

**General WARNINGS:** there will be **SLASH** in future chapters! torture, gore, violence, murder, semi dark!Harry

* * *

As the young man approached the enormous house, the first thin blowing of summer rain met him. Harry pulled his cloak around him tighter, silently musing over the sound of his shoes hitting the stones. Hot, bubbling rage prickled his insides as he remembered the last few hours.

He had been left out of the Order meetings as usual. After a series of failed attempts, he eventually stopped trying to eavesdrop and stopped badgering Ron and Hermione for information. But this time he had intrigued. Perhaps it had been the fact that half of the Order members had not been in attendance. Or perhaps it had been the fact that the usual charms and wards had been absent, strangely enough, which had allowed him to hear every word that had been said. Perhaps, he thought to himself, it had been all intentional.

But Harry snorted, shaking this thought immediately from his head. Dumbledore would not have wanted his precious weapon to know about all of his schemes, now would he?

As it had been meeting night, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny typically went upstairs and talked until they nearly fell asleep. After Hermione and Ginny had left for their room, and Ron had climbed into his bed, Harry too had laid down with the intention to sleep. But after tossing and turning for what seemed like hours (but, in reality was only about one hour), Harry gave up and went out of the room. Illuminating his wand, he padded down slowly to the drawing room.

Surprised by the voices he could hear in the kitchen as he passed the door, he had curiously listened in on the meeting. He wasn't at all surprised to hear the meeting was about him and how "protecting" him was supposed to go about. But then he heard Ron's voice in there, telling the Order about his day to day activities. Hadn't he just left Ron upstairs, snoring as usual?

Then Mrs. Weasley gave her report on him. She went on about how he didn't eat enough and how the potions didn't seem to be having any effect.

Harry became confused. What potions?

Snape interrupted her to say that he might have developed an immunity to the potions, and that there was only a certain amount of potion that one could absorb in a lifetime. Though then he continued on, saying a snide remark about how he must feel too good to eat homemade food.

Remus then gave a muttered remark about it taking one to know one, right Severus?

Dumbledore interrupted the two men before they could fight. "And how are things going for you Remus?"

Remus gave another muttered response, this time too low for Harry to hear.

Dumbledore sighed. "I know it's hard for both of you, but perhaps you and Harry can help each other. Sirius cared about you both. He wouldn't want either of you suffering, now would he?"

_Sirius_. The very mention of his name had made Harry's chest constrict, and a fierce anger at Dumbledore made his heart pound just a bit quicker. The already stuffy air seemed to thicken, making it harder to breathe.

"I find it hard to believe that Black cared about anyone other than himself," said Snape. Harry hands formed into fists, his nails digging small crescents into his palms. Snape, that no-good, greasy—

"I imagine you have nothing new to report, Severus?"

"No Albus. Potter remains as pig-headed as ever."

(_Stupid greasy git_) thought Harry as he lashed his foot out at a pebble resentfully. He looked up, heavy raindrops splattering against his glasses. Malfoy Manor was close now. Swallowing thickly, Harry took the last few steps towards the large, imposing wrought iron gates and raised a hand to open them, but before his fingers could touch the metal, the gates came apart with an eerie _creeeaaaak_ worthy of a horror film. Not that Harry had seen one, but he knew that Hogwarts' gates made a far different sound.

The gravel crunched underneath his feet as he walked up to the large manor. Snape had given him a Portkey to come here. He had said he could talk to the Dark Lord himself here.

He reached the front door, solid wood, with large silver knockers, easily twice his height. Rubbing at his prickling scar, he raised his hand to knock, but the door suddenly flew open and a wand tip was thrust into his face.

"Hands where I can see them, Potter," snapped the cold voice of Draco Malfoy. With a jerk of his head, he motioned for Potter to enter, wand not lowering. Harry stepped past him carefully, eyes never leaving his nemesis'. A whirlwind of emotions were flickering through those silver eyes, those that he recognized were hate and humiliation.

"Go," Malfoy growled, jabbing him in the chest with the wand. Harry turned silently, not comfortable with turning his back to Malfoy, but went forward as instructed. They started down the long corridor, eventually reaching a large sitting room. Almost immediately, all conversations stopped and all eyes flickered towards them.

One would be able to hear a pin drop in this silence. Harry felt cold sweat trickle down his neck as he was guided past several groups of Death Eaters. Despite his unease, he kept his head high and his gaze forward, not allowing himself to focus on the cruel smirks of the Death Eaters. His scar seemed to throb just a bit more with every step he took.

He was led near the fireplace, and the dull ache became a full blown headache.

Voldemort was sitting in a stiff, high-back chair in front of the fireplace, the orange light causing disturbing shadows on his slanted, snake-like face. His simple, dark robes flowed over the chair and pooled around his feet. Bellatrix sat on his left, her wild hair turned a dark brown by the flames. She was cooing over Voldemort, but he didn't seem to be paying her any attention. Lucius Malfoy was on his Lord's right, his cold, steel-colored eyes betraying nothing and watching Harry's every movement. His eyes flickered to his son's for a moment, then settled back on Harry's.

Draco cleared his throat, hesitation evident. "My Lord?"

Voldemort ruby red eyes turned onto them. He regarded them for a moment, and then he gave a wide, lipless smile.

"Ah, Harry," he said, arms spread in what could be considered a welcoming gesture. "Have you come to join your parents and godfather in death?" He chuckled darkly to himself and stroked his wand slowly. Bellatrix gave a high-pitched giggle and Harry was tempted to run over and strangle her, to choke the life out of her body so that _she_ could join Sirius in death. But only the narrowing of his eyes was a sign of his interior struggle.

"He wishes to join the cause, my Lord," came the voice of Snape. Harry turned his head to see him approach. He was in loose robes (that still billowed out behind him, of course) with his greasy hair brushed back behind his ears. Harry glanced back towards Voldemort, whose brow had risen in surprised. Even Malfoy Senior looked surprised.

"Is that so Harry? Why _ever_ so?" Voldemort asked, red eyes wide with curiosity, though power still swirled in his gaze.

Harry swallowed before answering. "I don't want to be on Dumbledore's side anymore." His voice trembled and he hated it.

Silence met his words. Draco was looking at him as if he had lost his mind. Lucius' eyes were wide. Snape was as unreadable as ever. Voldemort was blank. Bellatrix let out a mad bark of laughter that startled everyone back into motion.

"Mmm? Is that so Harry?" the Dark Lord repeated. "Why _ever _not?"

He thought about it for a moment.

"He's lied to me too many times. He's having my best friend spy on me, and he's lacing my food with potions, he won't let me into the Order, even though by now I think I've earned the right, and he thinks he can control my life!" he had started out quietly, but at the end his voice had risen to a shout, the reality of the last few days hitting him like an anvil, and with it came the rage.

He heard Malfoy snort very quietly next to him. He was abruptly aware of how much he had sounded like a petulant child, and flushed mildly.

"Your arrogance astounds me yet again, Potter. Dumbledore was giving you nutrition potions to try and counteract the years of abuse you sustained with those _Muggles_," Snape said, spitting the last word as if it were a disease. "They've been in your food for years, but there is a limit as to how much your body will use."

"So he knew how they were treating me, and yet insisted on me going back there every year?" Harry demanded quietly.

Snape seemed taken aback. Then he composed himself. "Yes, it appears so."

Harry had nothing to say to that (except perhaps "I told you so", but he didn't think that wise to say, especially since Snape might _Crucio_ him), so he remained silent and turned his attention back to Voldemort, who had remained mysteriously silent.

Silence reigned as the two regarded each other. Not even Bellatrix dared to make a sound. Harry was careful not to look into those ruby eyes, not wanting to have his thoughts looked through.

"You know, Potter," Voldemort said carefully, neutrally. "You and I are not that different from each other." When Harry didn't say anything, he took that as an invitation to continue. "We were both raised unloved, our parents left us, and Dumbledore saw fit to ignore our needs and our pleas for help." He paused. "Do you not agree, Harry?"

"I do agree," Harry responded shortly. Voldemort seemed to be waiting for a more elaborated answer, but Harry would not take any initiatives.

"And what could you bring to our cause, _Harry_?"

Here he wasn't too sure what he could respond. And this uncertainty showed in his voice. "Information on Dumbledore?"

"_Information on Dumbledore_?" the Dark Lord repeated, unimpressed. "Is this a question?"

"No, it's not a question. I can bring you information on Dumbledore," Harry said, trying to put some more force into his words.

Snape, unlike Draco, did not even try to hide his contempt. "I doubt it, my Lord. Potter wears his heart on his sleeve, and would not be able to lie that dunderhead Longbottom , much less to Albus Dumbledore."

Harry felt an urge to defend Neville; he didn't deserve Snape's scorn. "Just because he's not so good in potions doesn't mean he's not intelligent."

"If he passes his classes, it is because of Granger."

"Hey, Neville—"

"Silence!" barked Voldemort. "If you have nothing useful to say, Severus, don't say it. Unless you wish to test my patience." His cold voice had become a low hiss.

Snape bowed stiffly. "I apologize, my Lord."

Voldemort settled back in his chair and touched his fingertips together. "Now that we've established that you can't spy for us, Potter, what else do you propose you do?"

He hesitated too long. "Potter, my patience is wearing thin."

"I'm not sure what else I could do," Harry confessed, his stomach twisting itself in knots.

Snape shifted slightly, and the elder Malfoy's brow was raised.

"So you decide to run away from Dumbledore in a tantrum, and you come here to waste my time?" the Dark Lord hissed dangerously. Harry's scar burned hotly, and the throbbing in his head became more insistent. Voldemort turned towards Snape, anger apparent. "And you led him here, Severus?"

Snape immediately kneeled. "I apologize, Master, I thought he would have been better prepared."

"_Crucio_," came the hissed spell, and seconds later, Snape was writhing on the floor, screaming out his agony. Harry was shocked seeing his normally proud, sneering Potions master like this. He swallowed back his discomfort and looked away.

After a few moments Voldemort lifted the spell. Snape was left on the floor, panting for breath. He shakily climbed back on his feet and hung his head.

The monster turned its attention back to Harry. "Has that given you any ideas, Harry?" Voldemort asked, a cruel smile on his lips.

"No. I think it actually made my ideas go out the window." Those red eyes narrowed.

"Then perhaps with the help of your schoolmate your ideas will come back? _Crucio_." This time it was directed towards Draco. The blond fell to the floor, he too screaming his pain. His screams were high-pitched, and tears streamed down his face.

Voldemort released the spell sooner than he had with Snape, yet Malfoy seemed to be in worse shape. His immaculate hair was now in disarray, and his dulled grey eyes shone with tears as he attempted to push himself up.

"And now, Harry?" demanded Voldemort.

Harry tried to think like Ron (even though he clenched his jaw every time he thought of the redhead), like a strategist.

"It will upset the Light side to see me with you," he said.

Voldemort appeared thoughtful. "True…"

"You could just keep him as your pet, my Lord," said Bellatrix, a wicked gleam in her eye.

He chuckled darkly. "I could, couldn't I?" he mused aloud.

Harry's eyes widened. Pet? What did they mean by that? He started panicking internally, afraid of what they might do if they saw his fear.

"Draco, take him to the dungeons."

"What?"

"Yes, my Lord."

The younger Malfoy caught his bicep in a surprisingly strong grip. "Don't even try, Potter," was his whispered warning. Harry ignored him and tried to throw him off.

"No, Malfoy!" he caught the blond with a fist to the stomach, but before he could hit him again, his other arm was seized by Snape.

"_Desist_, Potter," he sneered, wand poking into his neck. "Go, Draco," he said firmly. Malfoy smoothed his shirt down irritably, and jabbed his wand roughly into Harry's side.

"Forward, Potter," he snapped. Muttering darkly under his breath, Harry started walking. As they went through the sitting room, Harry tried looking around discretely for an exit. But at all the windows, there was at least one Death Eater near, and all of them were looking at him and Malfoy. There were only three doors, one that led to the hallway and two that led elsewhere. It would be foolish to take one of the latter.

Malfoy took him to one of the unknown doors, it was small and wooden.

"Open it," he commanded. His wand had surely made a hole in his robes with all the poking he had done.

Harry turned the iron handle and pulled the door outwards. Dampness invaded his nostrils. Darkness clouded his vision. It looked like some enormous creature's mouth.

Abruptly, Malfoy pushed him in. Not expecting it, Harry stumbled and fell, rolling a few feet away from the door. He tried to pick himself up, trying to get back to the door. Malfoy's sneering face was the last thing he saw before the door was pulled closed with a _slam_.

"_No!_"

**

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**

A/N:

So what do you think? Should I continue this? And no, before you ask, Harry will not be a sex pet. 


	2. Dark Wood Study

**WARNINGS:** torture

_text like this_ is parseltongue.

* * *

(_How do I get myself into these situations?_)

Harry was sitting against the cold stone wall next to the door. His throat was dry and his limbs were stiff. The dungeons made him uneasy. It wasn't the dark, or the too tight enclosed space (even though he would sometimes get reminders, flashes, of _cupboard_), but the stone walls felt strangely… sinister, as if they might leap out of their formation to surround him, and suffocate him with their dark aura. And somehow, Harry knew, that if he ventured down deeper into that darkness, he might not ever come back out.

He shivered slightly and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. It wasn't necessarily to protect himself from the cold seeping in through his clothes, but to try and protect himself from whatever Voldemort had planned for him. But by now he knew, thinking over it bitterly, that it was inevitable, just as it had been the moment he had stepped past those gates.

(_Damn! What the bloody hell was I thinking?_)

He slumped back, his head knocking against a slightly jagged piece of stone. He winced quietly, and rubbed at the back of his head. His arm protested the movement. His sluggishly beating heart wasn't pumping hard enough to go against gravity.

The wooden door suddenly flew open, and knocked against the wall he was against, startling his heart and mind back into motion. The open door let in a seemingly blinding light into the darkness that he had become too adjusted to. He squinted his eyes. The person's face was invisible due to the backlight, but said light turned the man's short blond hair into a strange sort of halo.

Draco stepped into the cool room and gripped his arm to haul him to his feet. His legs protested the movement, having fallen asleep, and Harry fell to his knees.

"Get up, Potter," snapped Malfoy irritably, yanking more, nearly tearing his arm out of its socket.

"Ow, Malfoy! Easy...!" he croaked pathetically. He cursed his dry throat but Malfoy paid him no mind. Once he was on his feet, Malfoy motioned for him to go out first. Summoning enough energy for a scowl, he tentatively placed one foot forward, testing his legs. He wobbled a bit, but held strong.

"Can't you even walk properly?" Malfoy demanded. "Forward!" Harry was shoved through the door, narrowly missing the archway. He stumbled, blinded by the excessive light, and crashed into a small wooden table, sending a vase toppling. It smashed on the floor, and he heard Malfoy swearing indistinctly from somewhere behind him. _Merlin_ where did they get so much light…

"Potter!" came Malfoy's predictable shriek. He rushed past Harry's slumped form and quickly started working on repairing the vase.

Harry watched him lazily. "You like _vases_, Malfoy?"

Malfoy whipped back towards him, anger evident in his eyes. "It's my _mother's_, Potter!" His fury morphed quickly into smug maliciousness. "But you wouldn't know how I feel, would you?"

Harry sneered at him. "Don't talk about my mother, ferret."

Malfoy remained cool. "I never said a word about your mother, Scarhead." He leaned over him again and pulled him off the table. "Now _walk_, Potter, or I'll bind and levitate you."

Harry wasn't sure which would be more humiliating, being dragged to their destination bound by ropes, or walking there like some docile little lamb. Scowling at another prod of Malfoy's wand, he started walking forward.

Malfoy Manor, Harry grudgingly decided, was amazing. It was such a contrast to Hogwarts (smaller too, take _that_, ferret boy!), with its rich, dark upholstery, and pale blonds sneering down at him from every portrait. That one over there might even be related to Snape!

He was led down several hallways, all richly decorated with fine heirlooms (he briefly considered knocking another vase over, just to irritate Malfoy, but decided his back couldn't take any more poking). They finally stopped at a tall, polished wood door. Malfoy knocked, and after hearing the hissed "_Enter_", turned the ornate silver handle and pushed Harry in.

Today, Voldemort was sitting in a stuffed leather armchair behind a dark wooden desk that Harry assumed was Lucius Malfoy's. On top of the desk were several piles of various papers, a few inkwells, and a multitude of quills, some broken. The self-proclaimed Dark Lord's eyes glittered with a sort of wicked humor.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, sounding strangely pleased to see him. His scar twitched in response. "Come here, my pet!" He bared his teeth in what could have been considered a grin.

Harry stiffly went to his side, leaving a good two feet of space between them. Voldemort's smile only widened. "Your wand, please, Harry _dearest_."

"Don't call me your dearest, Tom," he said coolly, taking his wand from his pocket and presenting it. The humor in the snake-like man's eyes was quickly replaced by anger.

"Do _not_ call me that despicable Muggle name, Potter." He snatched Harry's wand and started to examine it, holding his own wand next to it. Harry stayed, immobile, next to him. "Interesting, don't you think," Voldemort said after a short pause. "That our wands are so similar, yet so different? _Like us, no?_" he said, switching into parseltongue.

Harry looked away pointedly, thinking that if Voldemort had eyelashes, he would be fluttering them now. "We're nothing alike. _Tom_," he said, adding the last word as an afterthought.

A snarl was his only warning before he was hit by an overpowered _Crucio_. He cried out in surprise before jerking about and falling to the floor. He banged his head on the floor and started thrashing about, trying to stop the pain, screaming all the while. A flailing hand caught his nose, and in the back of his mind, he realized he had broken in. Blood poured from his nose, his turning head throwing droplets onto the rugs, onto his clothes, onto Voldemort's face. Blood dripped into his open mouth, falling down into his throat, choking him. His glasses were thrown off. Dimly he realized Voldemort was shouting.

"DON'T PUSH ME, FILTHY WORM! YOU MIGHT BE ALIVE FOR THE MOMENT, BUT THAT CAN EASILY BE CHANGED!"

Voldemort continued, but Harry wasn't paying attention anymore. His body was on _fire_, as if someone had taken a lit match to his every nerve.

Eventually, the spell was lifted, and Harry lay on the floor, wheezing. The blood from his nose still hadn't stopped flowing. A shadow fell over him, and a wand was pointed at his face.

"_Episkey_," Voldemort muttered gruffly, and Harry's nose snapped painfully back into place. "Get up!" Voldemort barked dangerously, stepping away and sitting back at the desk. "And get those horrendous glasses before I decide to step on them."

He tried to push himself up, but his legs quickly gave out from under him. He had no choice but to crawl, humiliatingly, to his glasses at Voldemort's feet. He took them and slid them back in place on his face. A dark chuckle came from above him.

"Very good, Harry," Voldemort said, patting his unruly mop of hair, as if he were a dog. Harry resisted the urge to growl and bite that cold, pale hand. "Sit, Harry." He turned his body and gravity pushed him into a sitting position, instead of being on his hands and knees. "Good boy," the Dark Lord said mockingly. Harry bit down on the inside of his cheek and thinned his lips to prevent all the insults from coming out.

(_Why I oughta_)

"Trixie!" Voldemort called loudly. A crack later, and a house elf was cowering at his feet. "Get me Yaxley."

"Yes, Master Lord," squeaked the tiny elf, before Apparating back away.

Voldemort continued to pet Harry's hair as he waited. Harry twisted his fingers in his rumpled shirt. It felt strange, Voldemort carding his fingers through his hair like that. It was strangely relaxing. He almost wanted to lean into the touch…

A curt knock on the door interrupted him from these thoughts. Disgust welled up in him as Voldemort gave them permission to enter. A tall blond man strode in, his small, blue eyes landing on Harry's bloody face for only a second. An ugly grin split his face, before he looked back up to Voldemort.

"You sent for me, my Lord?" he asked, bowing, barely containing his glee at seeing Harry Potter at his Lord's feet.

"Tell me about our new Minister, Yaxley," Voldemort all but purred. Harry perked up. New Minister? That incompetent Fudge had finally been booted out?

"His name is Rufus Scrimgeour, my Lord. He used to be Head of the Aurors."

"Swayable?"

"I'm not sure, my Lord." Yaxley peered down at where Harry was sitting. He frowned, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening. "My Lord? Do you think it is wise to—"

"You question my judgment, Yaxley?" Voldemort's voice had descended into that low, warning hiss. His fingers tightened on Harry's scalp.

"N-no, of course not!" The blond all but spluttered.

"Good," the Dark Lord said neutrally. His fingers resumed their stroking. "Continue."

Yaxley bowed before resuming. "It is believed he wishes to reinstate the Aurors's rights to use the Unforgivables on those assumed to be your followers, much like Crouch did."

His response was a thoughtful hmm. "And Dumbledore? Does the old fool have nothing to say in response to this?"

"He disagrees with these methods. Even with Crouch, he spoke out fervently against the use of Unforgivables."

Voldemort was silent for a moment. Suddenly he turned towards Harry. "And you, my pet? Do you think Aurors should be allowed to use Unforgivables against us?"

"If they do," Harry started carefully, fully aware of that cold hand creeping down to play with the hair that lay against his neck. "They'd be no different than what they're trying to destroy."

"Now that wouldn't do at all, would it Harry?" Voldemort turned his gaze back to Yaxley. "Can you imagine Aurors attacking Mudbloods, Yaxley?"

The blond stayed silent. Voldemort didn't seem to mind. "Then we will have to expand our knowledge on all the other Dark curses, make sure those Aurors wish those were Unforgivables as well. Tell Severus to work on some new spells as well." He paused. "Did you know Harry, that there are spells to make the victim's cells start to eat each other?"

Harry repressed a shudder, though Voldemort must have felt it because the nonchalant humor was evident in his voice the next time he spoke. "It's quite painful, I hear. Which would you prefer, my pet; having this spell cast on you or being made to ingest flesh-eating maggots?" This time, Harry could not suppress his twitch, and Voldemort outright laughed. The sound was harsh on Harry's ears.

There was silence after that. Voldemort continued petting Harry's hair, Yaxley glanced between the two of them, and Harry stared determinedly at the thick rug he was sitting on.

"Is there anything else you need, my Lord?" asked Yaxley softly.

Voldemort twirled a lock of hair around his finger. "Is the room prepared?"

"Yes, my Lord. Right next to yours."

"Good. You may go, Yaxley," Voldemort said curtly. Yaxley bowed again, and left. Voldemort rose in one fluid motion, his hand leaving Harry's head, leaving him strangely disappointed. "Come, my pet."

Harry too rose, one of his knees cracking as he got up. He followed Voldemort calmly out of the study, his clenching and unclenching fists the only sign of his annoyance. They went down several hallways, all similar, yet he knew that they were not going back to the dungeons. They finally stopped outside a wood French door. Voldemort opened it, smiling dangerously, and gestured for Harry to enter. Glaring, Harry stepped inside.

"For you, my pet," Voldemort said, arms open. Harry ignored him, stepping past him and looking around. Like the rest of the Manor, the large room was done in dark colors. The four poster bed had silky brown drapes, and the fireplace was done in dark marble. Another portrait of a blond hung over the fireplace. There was a bookshelf, and a desk, both in wood. On top of the desk stood a barn owl, peering at both of them with its large eyes. "It is to your liking, I hope?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Would it matter if it wasn't?"

Voldemort stepped behind him and yanked his head back. "_Watch your tongue, Potter_." He said nothing in response, only glaring into those angry rubies. Slowly, Voldemort untangled his long fingers from his hair, and stepped away, taking careful steps around the room.

"I think you will have everything you need in here, pet. Look! I've even gotten you an owl so you can write to your _friends_."

Harry stared at him in disbelief as he continued talking about the room. Perhaps that last duel with Dumbledore had addled his brains a bit?

"I must leave now, pet." Harry was startled out of his reverie as he felt Voldemort's silky cloak brush by his hand. "Draco and I have much to talk about." He turned back to face Harry, a mocking smile on those non-existent lips. "Don't do anything exceptionally foolish, dearest." With a swish of his long black robes he exited the room.

Harry sighed and sat down on the bed. He groaned as he sank down into the mattress. Merlin, even Hogwarts beds weren't as soft as this! He looked around the room again. The blond from the portrait was staring down at him. He stared back.

"So…" Harry started, drawing out the word. "Which Malfoy are you?"

The figure raised a painted eyebrow. "I am not allowed to speak to you," it said in a clipped tone.

"I see," said Harry, narrowing his eyes. "You can spy on me, but you can't speak to me."

The blond smiled in a superior sort of way, as if to say "yes".

(_I ought to throw your painted arse in that fireplace_)

This summer was going to be hell, Harry decided.


	3. Dark Wood Room

Sorry about the wait people. I meant to get this out sooner, honest.

* * *

Harry eventually went to sleep. All was still, only the quiet rustling of the curtains by the wind disturbing the peace. The owl, too, had gone to sleep, its head tucked underneath its wing. The Malfoy from the portrait kept his gaze firmly on the sleeping form of the Dark Lord's new pet.

Harry was dreaming.

It was completely black at first. No light penetrated this dark and a small sense of foreboding went through his bones. The only things he could hear were his ragged breaths, as if he had been running, ducking, cursing Death Eaters, screaming. His throat hurt. Parts of his clothes were singed. There was a strange high-pitched buzzing in his left ear.

He was back in the Department of Mysteries. He found himself at the familiar bottom of the stone pit. The tattered Veil fluttered at him, in a wind he couldn't feel, almost mockingly. Without thinking, Harry ran towards it, trying desperately to throw himself in, to reach in and pull Sirius out, there was so much they hadn't _said_… But no matter how hard he tried, he could not even get up onto the dais.

He sunk to his knees next to the risen platform, slumping down and resting his back against it. His throat seized up. His vision blurred. There were strange flashes of light around him, a mockery of the fight that there had been only a few days ago. Distantly he could hear Bellatrix's insane glee, the Death Eaters's shouts, the Order's cries. But they didn't matter anymore.

"Sirius! Sirius!" his calls echoed around the empty chamber.

The veil shot up suddenly, that harsh, non-existent wind blowing fiercely, and Harry could feel cold air envelop him. His crystallized breath hung in the air. His glasses fogged up. He felt empty.

"Hey kiddo," came Sirius's voice from behind him. "What's wrong?"

Harry didn't turn around. He would never dream of this, Voldemort was sending him another trick vision, he knew. Hate and despair filled him. His nails dug crescents into his palms and he trembled violently. To his horror, he started to cry earnestly.

"Oh Sirius, I'm so sorry!" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He shouldn't give Voldemort the satisfaction, he thought to himself. Great, fat tears made their way down his cheeks. His nose started running, snot trailing down into his open mouth, smothering his wails. Helplessly, he tried to wipe his face, but the energy had gone clean out of him.

Sirius came closer. His too-long hair caressed his gaunt cheeks, the same wind that made the veil flutter lifting his hair and making it dance around him. Those hollow grey eyes stared down at Harry's form pityingly, and he raised a bony hand to rest on Harry's shoulder.

"What are you doing, Harry?" he asked quietly, but the question seemed to resound over and over again in Harry's head.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice strained.

"What are you doing with Voldemort, Harry?" Sirius asked, just as quietly, but stronger this time. "What _the hell_ are you doing?"

"I don't know Siri. I just… don't know anymore…"

"Well you need to find out, Harry," Sirius said, his eyes hard. "Because nothing excuses you going to _him_. He killed James, Harry!" Those eyes were burning into Harry's head now, fueled by rage. "He killed _your parents_! He killed so many people!" Sirius suddenly drooped. "He killed _me_, Harry." His voice was only a whisper now, and even in his dream Harry had to strain to hear him. "Doesn't it matter that _he killed me_, Harry?"

"Of course it matters!" Harry cried. "But Dumbledore… it was Dumbledore's fault! It's Dumbledore's fault your dead!"

"No Harry. If I'm dead, it's because you didn't listen to Dumbledore."

Harry only paused in his hiccupping for a moment. "W-what?"

"And if you had listened to Snape—"

"You're telling me to listen to Snape?" Harry turned around and stared at his godfather in disbelief, eyes wide in confusion. Sirius stared back unflinchingly, eyes empty again.

Harry shook his head and turned away, sliding a hand over his face. "No," he murmured to himself. "I want to wake up."

Harry opened his eyes abruptly, jerked from sleep. The cold stones had disappeared, and he found himself staring at the brown canopy of the too comfortable bed. He swallowed painfully and pushed himself into a sitting position. Looking through the window, he guessed that it might be around two o'clock. He got off of the bed, and, ignoring the staring portrait, went to open the window. The sunlight burned his eyes for a few moments. The summer breeze caressed his face, making his nerves tingle. He leaned against the windowsill and took in the vast grounds in an attempt to calm himself.

His fists clenched, and he quickly unclenched them when a sharp sting of pain went through his hands. _Sirius_… Sirius telling him to listen to Snape? What had that been about? He let his head fall into his hands and sighed tiredly. He stood there for a long time, just breathing, letting the warmth and the wind wash over him.

"Potter."

He jerked his head up and swiveled around. Malfoy was standing there, frowning (as usual) at him.

"_What_, Malfoy?" Harry demanded stiffly, glaring at the blond over his shoulder.

Malfoy swallowed. "The Dark Lord requests your presence in the living room." The blond stood stiffly, eyes puffy and face pinked. Harry stared at his school rival. Had he been _crying_?

"Really? Well you can go tell him to come and get me himself."

(_I'm bloody tired of seeing your pasty arse Malfoy_)

Malfoy shook his head tiredly. "He isn't in a good mood, Potter. And I'd rather not get killed today. So come on."

Sneering, Harry turned around fully to face him. "I know what Malfoy? I don't give a damn what he does to you. If he wants to see me then he can come here." They stared at each other, Malfoy in disbelief, and Harry in defiance. After a few moments Malfoy looked away shrugging wearily.

"Whatever Potty," he said carelessly, and went out. Harry turned back to the window. After a few minutes, the door was thrown open with a bang. Unable to stop his jump, Harry turned around to glare at the intruder, but was quickly lifted by his throat and thrust up against the wall.

"Do you wish to test my patience, Potter?" Voldemort hissed dangerously in his ear, red eyes ablaze.

"I'm your _equal_, Voldemort. I deserve more than summoning by your worthless lapdogs," he bit back.

"Everyone has their worth, Harry, however miniscule it might be." He was promptly dropped unceremoniously to the floor, and Voldemort walked away from him.

Harry pushed himself up quickly. He stared at Voldemort's long, black-clad back. "You wanted to see me?"

"I did," came his simple reply. He didn't even bother turning around. Harry forced himself to wait a few more moments before sighing and sitting down at the desk. His stomach gave a small rumble and he cursed it silently, biting down on his lip.

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait until dinner for food, my pet. You slept through lunch." At this Harry leveled a glare at the still staring portrait, which was unabashedly returned. "Oh, don't blame Rigel, he's just doing what I told him to."

The "_he wouldn't dare not to_" remained unspoken.

Voldemort finally turned around, a lazy, foreboding grin on his face. "How are you liking Malfoy Manor so far, Harry?"

"It's fine, I s'pose. If you're into dungeons and hallways."

"Yes, that is all you've seen, isn't it?" Those rubies bore into him. "Shall I give you a tour?"

A spark ignited in his chest. "Yeah, sure…" Voldemort's smile widened, and he gestured for Harry to come to him. Voldemort took hold of Harry's arm with a surprising gentleness, and together they exited the room.

Voldemort started leading him around the Manor, talking about some parts of its history that he knew, and pointing out various objects that could be dangerous. Harry listened to him attentively, trying to find something, _anything_ that could be useful to him in some way, while trying to ignore the painful throb of his scar. He had tried feebly pulling his arm away, but Voldemort had only tightened his grip.

They went out onto the grounds, Voldemort's grip neither loosening nor tightening.

(_Even if I made a break for it, I wouldn't be able to get very far_) so he allowed Voldemort to steer him around like some sort of show pony. Too soon, they were back in front of Harry's room.

"Dinner is in a few hours. You should wash up before hand. I will send someone up to-" he broke off at Harry's glare. His mouth curled into a smirk. "I will come and fetch you then." With that, he swept down the hallway, leaving Harry by himself.

Harry stayed immobile for several moments, breath held. Had Voldemort _really_ left him here, by himself? He strained his ears, listening for any sound that he was being watched. Hearing nothing, he bolted. He sped down the hallways, taking the route that they had taken to get to the grounds, spying portraits be damned. If he could just get outside, he might be able to make a break for it…

"Lucius!" came a small female voice that instantly had him frozen. He went up against the wall, underneath a glaring portrait of another blond, and peeked slowly around the corner.

"No, Lucius!" said the voice again. Harry had only seen Mrs. Malfoy once, at the Quidditch World Cup, and he barely recognized her. This woman was thinner, the tiredness in her eyes and body more pronounced than before. Her perfect brows were scrunched in despair as she looked at her husband.

"What do you want me to do, Narcissa?" he all but snarled, pacing in front of his wife. He resembled an angry caged animal. "Even if there was a chance… I could not do it for him."

"But he's just a boy…" she moaned, covering her beautiful face with her hands. Lucius's anger instantly evaporated.

"I know, my love," Lucius said quietly, taking her in his arms. "I know." They stood there in each others' arms, soaking up the love and comfort. "Come, Cissa," he said, and they went away, thankfully in the opposite direction.

Letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, Harry quickly started running again. Had they been talking about Draco? Turn right here, keep straight there…

After a few more hallways, Harry decided that he was lost.

(_Damn! Why can't things just be easy for once?_)

And he didn't have his wand either. These damn halls all looked the same! He wandered around some more, hiding behind corners whenever he heard noises. The portraits kept looking down their noses at him. Taking a deep breath, Harry turned to the portrait next to him.

"Excuse me, do you know how to get outside, to the grounds?" he asked politely.

The female Malfoy lifted her nose even higher in the air. "Mudblood _scum_," she sniffed haughtily. "Go away. You're soiling my paint with your presence."

"I'm not muggleborn," Harry argued. Then he frowned. "No, wait..! I am muggleborn! That's right! And I'll…I'll…_touch you_ if you don't tell me how to get out right now!" He licked his finger and stuck it in the air, waggling it. She recoiled to the other side of the frame.

"No, don't! I'm an antique, I must not be touched… Get away with your filth!" she shrieked.

"I'll do it! I will!" Harry whispered menacingly, inching closer.

"No! No! NO! STOP! I'LL TELL YOU!"

"Tell me then," Harry said commandingly, keeping his finger in place.

"You…you go left twice, then straight on!"

"Right, thanks," Harry said politely, wiping his finger on his jeans and promptly running off. Left, left, straight. Yes! He could see the glass French doors that led to the grounds. He reached them and hastily turned the handle. He burst out of the manor and, looking both ways for possible Death Eaters, ran left towards what he thought was the front of the house. He ran close to the Manor walls, not wanting to be spotted from one of the windows and possibly stopped. Soon, he saw the path leading up to the front door and he started sprinting to the large gates. He turned the warm iron handle and slipped out.

It was a long way down to the road. Harry was already tired. When he finally reached the gravel, he could either turn left, right, or go straight. He thought hard about the Portkey Snape had given him to come here. He had been dropped next to the road, in a grassy field, and had been told to stay straight. But he had seen something on the right, hadn't he?

(_It doesn't matter. I need to get out of here before he finds out that I'm gone…_)

Shaking his head agitatedly, he started jogging to the left. After what seemed like hours, he finally saw a small house. Making a little gasp of excitement, he tried to run again, but he was so exhausted that he had to shuffle his feet to get there. As he got closer, he saw that it wasn't just a house, but there was an entire town!

He dragged himself up to the front porch of the first house, mustered the strength to knock, and fell to his knees. Wheezing tiredly, just as the door opened, he fell to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

Reviews make me happy, you have no idea! ^_^


	4. Small Creaky House

**WARNINGS:** torture, Muggle killings, mild slash

_Text like this is parseltongue. - _this is also supposed to be underlined, but the site keeps it in italics only! grr

Previously: Harry runs to Voldemort because he is tired of Dumbledore's schemes. But once he's there and can't escape, he realizes his folly, only to be thrown in the dungeons. He is later claimed as Voldemort's "pet". He dreams about Sirius telling him to escape from Voldemort, who later gives him the tour of the Manor, which he remembers later to escape. He runs to a village near the Manor, and collapses on the porch of the nearest house.

* * *

Harry was dreaming.

It was dark again, this time the foreboding hit his cold body with as much force as a speeding train. Slowly, a dim light appeared in front of him. It grew bigger, as if something were pushing him towards it. He found himself back in the hallways of Malfoy Manor. He was continued being pushed forwards, without even moving his feet, which seemed to be glued together. In fact, his entire body was stiff; the only things he could move were his eyes.

The blonds glared down on him from their portraits, jeering. Death Eaters lined the walls, their eyeless masks all turned towards him. Harry swallowed. It was eerie. The masked men stood stoically, the only sign that they weren't statues was the turning of their heads to follow Harry's progress down the halls.

Harry looked towards the end of the hallway. Standing in front of the door he had used to escape was Lord Voldemort himself, crimson eyes fixed on Harry's form, face emotionless. In his right hand he held two wands, his own and Harry's, and in his left, a dog collar.

Harry's scar burned. A scream tried to tear itself from his throat, but his lips would not move to let it out, remaining stubbornly together as if they had been sewn shut. The imaginary white-hot poker continued to push itself onto his forehead, making the nerves all over his body light up, as if he was being electrocuted. His limbs trembled, his fingers shook. He wanted to scream.

"Where are you, my pet?" Voldemort asked, eyes wide, looking strangely confused. "Why would you leave?" The question echoed through the hall. The portraits were silent. The Death Eaters didn't even dare breathe.

Harry could not answer. He did not want to.

"Where are you…" Voldemort purred sadly, coming towards him and circling his now still form. He stopped in front of him and gripped his chin carefully, tilting his head up so their eyes would meet. Harry looked away, his mouth hanging partially open in a painful gasp that was caused by his searing scar.

"Look at me, pet," the Dark Lord commanded soothingly, but it did nothing for Harry. His eyes started to water. Voldemort's hand burned his jaw.

"No…o," the raspy sound somehow managed its way out of his throat. The burning in his scar intensified as Voldemort used his other hand to hold his head in place and force their eyes to meet.

Immediately the world started spinning. All he could see was _crimson_. Distantly he could hear screams, snarls, begs of different kinds. His escape from the Manor started appearing in flashes through the crimson swirls. How the corridors has seemed endless. How he had threatened the portrait. His joy at being able to escape. How he had ran down the road before collapsing onto—

An agonized moan tore itself from his throat as Voldemort gave an insane grin.

"Don't worry, pet, we're coming," he whispered in his ear, before letting him go. Harry fell, but instead of hitting the floor, he kept on falling, until he bolted upright, a shout making its way out of his mouth.

Panting, he looked around frantically. He was in some strange small room; the wallpaper was white, and the twin sized bed he was on creaked as he shifted. The door on the other side of the room was white, and the only window in the room was above the bed. There was a small light wood chair in the corner, and a lamp in another.

(_Muggles_) his mind supplied.

He looked down to find that he had been stripped down to his underwear, and that his feet were tied to the foot of the bed. His hands, forcefully balled into fists to prevent him from using his fingers, were tied together.

He froze up. (_What is _this_?_) He forced himself to swallow and pushed his glasses up further onto his nose. His fist touched something wet. He pulled his hand away and realized that there were tears. Frowning he wiped them away. So Voldemort had found him? A slight shiver ran through his body. If these people were _Muggles_…

The door suddenly creaked open. In stepped a man who Harry guessed was in his forties. It was a bit difficult to tell because of the angry sneer on the man's face. In his hands he held a double barreled shotgun. He walked in cautiously, eyes never leaving Harry's face. He stopped about three feet from the bedside.

"Who are you, boy?" the man demanded, his voice hard and low.

"I'm…Harry…Potter," Harry stuttered hoarsely, eyeing the gun warily.

"Where'd you come from?"

"The manor down the street." The gun immediately found its way between his eyes.

"I knew it," the man snarled. "Mary, go downstairs." A woman he hadn't seen before, hiding behind the man, immediately fled.

"No, no!" Harry protested. "Please, they were holding me prisoner. They tortured me…"

The gun was lowered a tiny fraction. "What did you say, boy?"

"They were holding me prisoner—"

The man's eyes narrowed. "Down over at that shady manor?"

"Yes."

The gun lowered further, until it was only pointing at his leg, and not at his face. "Those people…no, those monsters… they came over here a few weeks ago, waving these little sticks around and shooting lights out. Somehow managed to kill most of us, these freaky lights. Even when we ran…they just reappeared in front of us…"

The man stared at the floor, talking in low, nearly incomprehensible mutters. "They got Mary's sister, right in front of her… I saw them shoot down ol' Tod down the street…"

"How did you get away?" Harry whispered in horror.

"We hid under a car…Mary nearly gave us away…but they didn't even look over… Tried to get letters out to her parents, but electricity's been cut…no post…barely any water…they're too close, we can't leave…fuck, it woulda been better to have just died when they first came…" His crazed eyes lifted to meet Harry's. His voice retook the hard edge it had before. The gun was again lifted to his face. "That's why we won't take any chances."

"No! Honest, they were keeping me prisoner—"

"Shut it boy!" the deranged man roared, butting Harry's forehead sharply with the gun. "We want nothing to do with them! We didn't do nothing! Nothing boy—"

The man was abruptly cut off as there was a strange sudden green flash, matched by Harry's soft cry as his scar started burning. He looked out the window, eyes nearly popping out of his head. A vein in his forehead started throbbing dangerously. Harry was forcibly reminded of Uncle Vernon whenever he was about to explode.

"YOU CALLED THEM HERE, BOY?" he shouted. "MARY, TAKE COVER!" He then took aim at Harry's forehead, his finger shaking badly on the trigger. Mary screamed from downstairs. The man whipped around, torn between helping her and getting rid of the boy that brought those _freaks_ back. But the sight of the figure in the doorway made him freeze, the gun slipping from his suddenly limp hands.

"You dare mistreat my pet this way?" Voldemort hissed, ruby eyes glinting in the green light of the Dark Mark. The man shuddered and tried to back away. "_Avada Kedavra!_" Voldemort only glanced at the figure on the floor before turning his gaze on Harry's body. A wide smirk split his face as he looked up and down.

Harry felt his face heat up. "Voldemort…" he started angrily.

The Dark Lord stepped on the dead man's body and muttered a spell to cut Harry's bindings. He then removed them with his hands, cold fingers lingering longer than necessary, "accidently" touching his stomach. "No one is allowed to mistreat you, pet." Those rubies gave a flash of sadistic humor. "Except for me, of course."

"I guess you don't know you're a bit late then," Harry bit out through the pain of the Dark Lord's proximity.

"It seemed we missed a few Muggles last time we were here," Voldemort said conversationally. The bindings now lay on the floor, covering the Muggle's face. Those cold fingers still lingered, tracing random patterns on Harry's skin. "But don't worry; we've gotten them all this time. There'll be no more running from you," Voldemort declared, suddenly cold. He suddenly swooped down, the pain in Harry's scar increasing a thousand times over. His fingers pinched and twisted his exposed nipples cruelly, sending electricity through his body and making him cry out.

"_If you dare run from me again_," Voldemort hissed quietly in parseltongue over Harry's soft cries. "_I will hunt down every person you have ever cared about. I will torture them myself. In front of you. Only after they have begged a hundred times for death shall it be granted. And they will die the most painful way possible, do you hear me?_"

Harry nodded frantically, trying feebly to push the much stronger monster off of him.

(_Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes please please I'll do whatever you say just please please don't oh please_)

Satisfied, Voldemort pushed himself up, fingers trailing down in their natural movement. His nails lightly raked Harry's sides. He pushed himself off the bed and stood, pocketing his wand.

"Come pet. We might catch an infection from staying here," he held his hand out. Having no other choice, Harry took it and was pulled to his feet. Voldemort led them out of the room, through the narrow hall, and down the stairs. As they went through the living room, he saw Mary, lying on top of a table and covered in blood, her shirt ripped open and breasts exposed. A large cut traveled from her collarbone to her hip, cutting her left breast in two. Harry gulped but Voldemort didn't even glance her way.

"What about my clothes?" Harry asked, voice shaking.

"What about them?" Voldemort asked coolly, continuing out of the house. The night was warm, but a shiver still ran through Harry's body.

"I'm cold, Voldemort," Harry snapped.

"You'll live," was his only response.

They approached the Death Eaters, who immediately bowed low to their master. Some, after straightening, leered at Harry, who glared back.

"Burn it all," Voldemort commanded. "Nott, Yaxley, walk my pet back to the Manor."

"Walk, my Lord?" came a confused voice, probably Nott's.

"Yes, Nott, walk. As in the action of putting one foot in front of the other? Surely you have done it before…"

"Yes, of course my Lord," Nott said, bowing again.

Voldemort turned to the shivering Harry. "_Behave_, pet," was the only thing he said before Disapparating away.

The rest of the Death Eaters grumbled and turned to the village, starting to cast fire spells at the various houses and cars. Yaxley and Nott took one of his arms each and started pulling him down the road. Small rocks dug into Harry's feet. The wind chilled him, but not nearly as much as the presence of the two Death Eaters at his sides. He tried twisting out of their grips, but they only tightened their hold.

"Don't struggle Potter, wouldn't want my hand to _slip_ would you?" Yaxley whispered menacingly in his ear. Harry immediately froze up.

"You wouldn't…"

"No, he probably would," said Nott, smirking. "Yaxley has a thing for little boys, don't you?"

"I'm not little…" Harry protested.

"Doesn't really matter Potter, you've got a cock don't you?"

Harry flushed angrily. "I'll tell your Master all about this."

Yaxley shrugged. "My punishment won't be anything compared to yours, Potter."

Harry swallowed and focused on the road.

By the time they reached the Manor, Harry's arms and feet were aching. The throbbing burn in these areas contrasted with the chill of the rest of his body. Neither Nott nor Yaxley had offered clothes, not that Harry had actually expected them to, but it would have been nice.

Peter Pettigrew was waiting for them at the door, occasional shudders wracking through his body. Harry didn't bother to try and prevent his sneer.

"The Dark L-l-lord awaits his pet in his room," the sniveling rat stuttered, shrinking down at the look Yaxley was giving him. He gave a small grunt of disdain before turning away and hauling Harry up the stairs, Nott following.

The walk up to Harry's room was made in silence, and only augmented the trepidation wracking his body. Whatever Voldemort had planned…

After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived in front of the dark wood French doors. Nott and Yaxley, still keeping firm hold on Harry's arms, each took a door handle and swung them open. Harry struggled more as they forcefully dragged him inside. Voldemort was sitting at the desk, a knife resting on his thigh, stroking the barn owl's head gently. The bird shuddered as one of his nails went through its soft layer of feathers.

"Pet…"he purred, ruby eyes glinting with eagerness. "You're finally back."

Harry simply mustered the filthiest glare he could in response.

Voldemort rose. "Leave us," he dismissed the Death Eaters, eyes never leaving Harry's. They bowed and exited, closing the doors behind them.

Voldemort circled him slowly, much like he had in his dream. Harry tried to repress his shudder as he felt those eyes take in his form again. Voldemort raised a hand and pressed the knife against his shoulder. Harry let out a tiny flinch as he felt the sharp blade puncture his skin.

Voldemort leaned closer. Harry could feel him breathing on his neck. "_If you were anyone else, I would have fed you alive to Nagini_."

"_You know I'm not anyone else,_" came Harry's simple reply.

"_Which is exactly why I must punish you more…_" The knife touched his wound. Harry flinched away. Abruptly, he was shoved on the bed, Voldemort's weight pinning him down.

"_I love to hear you scream, did you know that?_"

And scream was the only thing Harry did for the rest of the night.

* * *

So how was it? I had the most difficulty with the Muggle scene in the beginning. I hope the "mild slash" was overkilled either. It was simply meant to make Harry uncomfortable, to show Voldemort invading his space, not to seem too sexual. Please don't forget to review! I was so disappointed last chapter because I only got one review for it. :(


	5. Big Plush Bed

**WARNINGS**: wow, none!

* * *

Harry was jerked from sleep abruptly. His eyes widened, and he blinked furiously to try and get rid of the dry sting that burned his eyes. He discovered that he had slept in an awkward position, his weight balancing on his face, chest and knees, the reason for the soreness in his neck. His position however, did not explain the aches in the rest of his body.

Voldemort had not been gentle in his punishment, not that Harry had expected him to be. The sheets had red blotches underneath him. The numerous cuts on his body should have been enough to make him bleed to death, but the blood-replenishing potions Snape had brewed specifically for this night worked well. Harry snorted, but then winced as his throat burned. As if Snape would botcher one of his beloved potions for his sake.

Failing to stifle a groan, Harry slid his knees down until he was completely on his belly. He didn't dare roll over onto his back because of the numerous cuts that Voldemort had slowly inflicted last night. Tiling his head carefully and readjusting his glasses on his nose (thankful that only the frame had been twisted about), he checked for another's presence in the room. The only thing he saw was Rigel Malfoy's portrait, glaring down disdainfully as usual. Rolling his eyes, he turned his head the other way and silently began to weep.

The image of Mary's limp, blood covered body flashed in his mind. Death Eaters surrounded her, laughing at her struggling. One grabbed her by her breast, twisting it cruelly until she was shrieking, and started cutting into her.

(_Did Death Eaters rape Muggles?_) he wondered. A hollow ache developed in his chest. He swallowed hard as his shoulders shook. Merlin, he could have saved those Muggles… The dream with Sirius and the veil resurged in his mind. He nearly snarled. He already knew he had to somehow escape! But, damn, since he had already been caught once, Voldemort was sure to tighten the security.

The door was suddenly opened. Harry jumped, getting a crick in his neck from turning around so fast. Voldemort's black clad figure stood imposingly in the doorway, ruby eyes shining with sadistic humor. In five long strides he was next to the bed. Harry held back his cringe.

"How do you feel, pet?" came the quiet, but powerful murmur, fingers trailing down his back, nails pausing occasionally to dig into the cuts on his back.

"Great," Harry croaked as sarcastically as he could. He flinched as a nail dug into his insides. "I've never been better."

"Really?" Voldemort asked, sounding disappointed. "I had hoped that you would have learned a lesson out of it. Do we need to do it another time?"

"N…no…" What would another torture session help him with? What good would that do? Damn, he was aching…

"Good," came his prompt answer. He felt the bed dip as the Dark Lord sat sown next to him. He stifled his gasp as cold fingers started raking through his messy hair. "I've been speaking with Severus, you know. He was rather worried I hadn't been treating you well."

Harry stayed silent. The image of Snape with wide eyes and a furrowed brow came to his mind. Snape sank to his knees, grabbing a fistful of Voldemort's robes, begging his Lord not to hurt Harry Potter, even though he was a hot-headed dunderhead who was no good at Potions.

"He has asked that you return to Hogwarts this year."

"I suppose you said no," Harry said flatly.

"I have no reason to leave you with Dumbledore now that I have you. And it's not as if you're getting a decent education. Luckily for me." Harry could _hear_ the smirk on his non-existent lips as the last sentence was said.

"What do you mean by that?" Harry asked sharply. "Hermione said—"

"No wonder you're so _stupid_ Potter, if you listen to that bush haired _Mudblood_."

"Don't call her that!" Harry shouted hotly, trying to push himself up to defend her. The scabs on his arms split open and started bleeding again.

"Why wouldn't I, dear? That's what she is. She is a danger to us. Do you not think that she hasn't told her parents about us? Do you not think she hasn't told everyone she knows about wizards and magic?"

"She wouldn't!" Harry shouted, eyes glaring up at Voldemort's pale, blurry figure in rage. "She's too smart to—"

"Regardless of whether or not her intelligence surpasses yours (which isn't hard to do anyways, even _Wormtail_ is smart enough not to try and escape from me), Mudbloods are still is a danger to our society. Not all Muggles are as understanding as her parents may be. Or have you forgotten about your aunt and uncle?" Nails dug into his scalp fiercely. "Have you forgotten about the starving and neglecting and beatings?"

"Stop it!" Harry shouted. "You don't..! You don't know _anything_! You—"

"I was raised in an orphanage Potter," the Dark Lord spat. "You don't think it was difficult for me? You thought you had it hard, didn't you, last year, with people jeering at you, saying you were crazy for saying I was back (I was never gone, by the way, just gathering my strength and forces). You know how cruel children can be. How do you think Muggle children would treat me, a magic _freak_?"

"Don't try and compare us Voldemort. We're not the same. You're a _murderer_. You're sick and cruel—"

"Perhaps… but do you not think that your precious Dumbledore hasn't killed? Tortured? He was manipulating you so you ran to me. He wanted you to kill me so he wouldn't have to do it himself."

"That's rubbish! He could kill you himself if he wanted to!"

"He couldn't. Obviously. He could have killed me when I was starting out, but instead, he sent me off to Godric's Hollow to have my spell ricocheted off an infant."

"That proves your cruelness, doesn't it? You went off to kill an _infant_."

"Do you think I would take that chance? Do you think I would take the chance of having a child grow up, specifically trained to fight and kill me (not that that would be possible anyways…)?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm specifically trained to fight and kill you, aren't I?"

"Trained, Potter? Throwing around random disarming spells does not make you _trained_."

"I survived, didn't I?"

"It was all based on sheer _dumb_ luck with no help whatsoever from your non-existent skills."

"I—"whatever Harry was about to say was cut off abruptly by a curt knock on the door.

"What?" barked Voldemort angrily. The door opened and Snape stepped in. He took one look at Harry's battered body and raised an eyebrow. "Hurry up Snape, we are occupied."

"This morning's edition, my Lord," Snape's eyes flickered over said briskly, handing over a folded copy of the _Daily Prophet_ from the inside of his robes.

Voldemort grasped it coolly and shook it to unfold it. An interested half-smirk split his face and his eyes glinted in triumph. He looked over to Harry, smile only widening. "Would you like to see, pet?" He moved his hand over so the front page was hanging in front of his face. Harry swallowed, feeling the blood drain from his face.

On the front page, emblazoned with a bold headline _THE CHOSEN ONE GONE DARK?_, was a large black and white grainy picture, moving like all Wizarding photos did. In the picture, stood two Death Eaters, Yaxley and Nott, whom he recognized by their stances, and his memories of the previous night. In front of the two, stood Voldemort, tall and imposing, face twisted in irritation, hand clasped with Harry's smaller one. Their joined hands were circled in red. Harry stood naked, except for his underwear, fist and jaw clenched in anger. In the shot Voldemort tilted his head to mock Nott for not knowing how to walk, and then turned to Harry to tell his pet to _behave_, before the photo looped around again. To the side of the picture was another red circle, showing their joined hands again, but bigger, in an even grainier photo.

Harry pushed himself up, ignoring the burn in his muscles, and slumped against the pillows, prying the paper from Voldemort's unresisting fingers. "But, how…when..?"

"Obviously Potter, _with a camera_ and _while the event transpired_," Snape said slowly, as if talking to a very small child.

Harry flushed, but otherwise tried to ignore the Potion Master's presence. He scanned the article, hands trembling. The article went about speculating about when he and Voldemort had started "collaborating against the Wizarding World", sometimes quoting people who were shown the article.

"_He probably joined You-Know-Who right after that tournament ended, when that poor boy was killed! Potter himself probably did it,_" one woman said. That comment in itself made Harry seethe with rage and he threw the paper down in disgust.

"How did that get out? What are we going to do?"

"Well Potter…"

"We will do nothing," said Voldemort, interrupting Snape smoothly.

"What do you mean, nothing? You're…" his eyes widened as realization dawned on him. "You're… happy about this, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am rather pleased."

"But…but…I…"

"Think about it Potter," came Snape's voice. "The Wizarding public has already assumed the worse of you, and therefore saves the Dark Lord quite a bit of work."

Harry frowned. He understood the logic. This speculation about him being dark could actually turn him to the dark, or make him fight even harder to kill Voldemort. Hell, if people treated him as bad as they had last year

(_no, they'd treat you worse, since there's pictures and since the _Daily Prophet_ always tells the truth…_)

then he couldn't really be blamed if he didn't fight for Dumbledore anymore, huh? Old, senile, child-neglecting Dumbledore. When that got out (and thanks to his little outburst from when he first came to Malfoy Manor, Voldemort would make sure it would) people would get _really mad_, insisting that that Potter boy was being _Imperio'd_ or something, or that he had finally been corrupted by You-Know-Who, to say such things about Albus Dumbledore the Magnificent! Who mentored young Potter, and defeated Voldemort only earlier that summer, what an ungrateful little _beast_ that Potter boy is!

And the only thing he could do right now was glare hatefully at both men in the room.

Voldemort's smile widened more. "Don't worry, pet. Dark magic is… simply wondrous. Have you ever wondered how to castrate a man without using a severing curse? That's dark magic. Or how about liquefying and then freezing organs? That too is dark magic."

"Wondrous," repeated Harry sarcastically, ignoring the knotting of his stomach.

"And I shall teach you how to cast a proper Cruciatus Curse. Bella told me you need some work."

Harry turned away at the mention of Bellatrix, and winced as the sheets scraped one of his cuts.

"Severus, could dearest Harry die from these cuts?"

"Possibly, my Lord, if he entered in contact with too much bacteria. If you wish I have healing salves…"

"Only on the bigger ones." Snape took a small vial from a robe pocket and thrust it towards Voldemort.

"No Severus. This is the perfect opportunity for you two to get past all your misunderstandings," said the Dark Lord almost cheerily.

Snape opened his mouth to retort, but Harry beat him to it. "_Misunderstandings_? I didn't do a thing to him, the stupid greasy _git_."

"_Go_ Severus."

The tightening of his jaw was the only outward sign that Snape was just as angry as he was about this. He stood stiffly over the bed, uncorked the vial and poured salve on his fingers, applying them to Harry's cuts with more force than necessary. He gave a tiny smirk as Harry gritted his teeth in pain as he rubbed particularly forcefully into one cut on his chest.

(_Stupid git you're enjoying this aren't you_)

Not soon enough, Snape had finished with the more worrying cuts. Harry let out a sigh of relief as Snape was dismissed. Voldemort came back to the bedside and patted Harry's head.

"Sleep, pet, you need rest for tomorrow." The maniacal glint was back in his eyes, the one that told Harry

(_yes dear, I am going to torture you again and again until your throat is raw and then I'll have Severus brew something for it so I can hear your lovely screams again. Then when I get bored of you I'll let Bella have a turn maybe I'll let my faithful Death Eaters have a go at you like they had a go at those Muggles we somehow missed? It doesn't matter we'll think more later after lunchtime I think better with food in my stomach don't you pet?_)

* * *

Don't forget to review!


	6. Dark Wood Desk

**WARNINGS:** some torture, mild slash

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Though he had been told to sleep, Harry lied awake even as a house-elf brought him breakfast. He only looked at the food, but refrained from touching it. His stomach growled in protest, reminding him that the last time he had eaten was the night he had come to Malfoy Manor, and that had been…damn, 2 days ago?

He groaned and turned over, facing away from the food. It smelled good, he realized. He could smell the scrambled eggs, the bacon, the toast… Groaning again, he suddenly sat up and looked over at the tray.

(_Wait it might be poisoned! Constant vigilance, Potter…_)

He stared at it for a moment. _Screw it_, he decided, and pounced on the plate with gusto. The voice shrieked in his head.

(_Potter! What if he's laced it with a new Imperius potion? What if he's buried flesh eating maggots in there? You know he's talked about it. What if he's pissed in it?_)

That thought made him paused. Then he shrugged. "Tastes fine to me," he muttered to himself, and continued eating.

(_Idiot!_)

The voice continued berating him, sounding like Mad-Eye Moody and Hermione at the same time. A pang of regret hit him as he thought of Ron and Hermione, fork halfway to his mouth. He hadn't even written them yet. Did they think that he had sided with Voldemort? What would the Order do? He put the fork in his mouth, removed it, chewed and swallowed, taste not even registering in his mind anymore. Ron's face, stony, appeared in his mind's eye. Hermione stood behind him, frowning, her eyes filled with tears. Mrs. Weasley shook her head and cried on her husband's shoulder, who looked at him as if he didn't know who he was anymore. Ginny was red faced, and turned her back on him. Dumbledore looked at him sadly. Snape was impassive as ever, his dark eyes boring holes in Harry's skull. Mundungus asked if the Dark Lord had any valuables he wanted to sell.

Harry snorted lightly, and polished off his eggs. Wiping his mouth, he leaned back onto the pillows and dozed, telling himself he would write to Ron and Hermione right after he woke up.

He slept on and off for the rest of the morning, snoring lightly, trying to roll over occasionally, but moaning in pain and staying still. He woke up groggy, his glasses pressing down almost painfully on his nose. He yawned widely, and pushed himself off of the pillows.

(_Right. First order of business: write to Ron and Hermione and hope they'll read the letter instead of tossing it into the fire_)

Spotting a thin robe on the desk, he walked over and picked it up gingerly, giving it a few shakes to make sure there was nothing in it. Then he examined it for stains.

(_Come on, Potter. If they put poison on it, it would have dried by now!)_

Rolling his eyes, he sighed and shrugged the robe on. No trousers, he realized, or even a shirt. What had happened to his trunk, he mused. Sighing again, he wrapped it tightly around himself and pulled out a few drawers in the desk, looking for paper and quill. Finding some quickly, he sat down and paused as he thought of what to write. Finally he started writing:

_Dear Ron and Hermione,_

_Please don't burn this just yet._

_Well, er, I hope you two have been OK. Despite what you guys might have heard, I haven't gone dark. I wouldn't ever. EVER. It was a mistake coming here. I was just… so angry with Dumbledore. I couldn't believe it took us fighting Death Eaters and Sirius dying to get him to tell me the truth about Voldemort. I wasn't thinking straight, coming here._

_I need to get out of here as quickly as possible. I tried to escape once, but Voldemort… I saw what the Death Eaters did to this Muggle woman, literally tore her body open. Another Muggle told me about how they killed everyone in their village; he was so angry and so scared. I was too, Death Eaters aren't very nice people._

_Please write back,_

_Harry_

As he finished he suddenly realized that he couldn't send it off. There were surely wards on Grimmauld Place, and he had let Hedwig out before he had left. Voldemort's owls wouldn't be able to get through, since…well, they belonged to Voldemort… He cursed under his breath, blowing the ink dry and folding it up. Perhaps he could send it to the Burrow? He frowned. He didn't know of any other addresses than Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place, and the Burrow. (Well, he _could_ send it to number 4 Privet Drive…)

He rose and wrapped the robe tighter around himself again. He walked over to the door and opened it slowly, sticking his head out. His face met black robes. He stumbled, knocking his shoulder against the door and nearly popping his own head off. Coughing fitfully, he looked up to find Avery's sneering face glaring down at him. Looking over to the other side, he saw Dolohov smirking coolly from the other side of the doorway.

"Going somewhere, Potter?" came the voice of Avery.

He swallowed. "I need to deliver a letter."

Avery's sneer became even more pronounced. "Is that so? Writing for help from your little Mudblood friends?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Don't say that."

"Oh?" An eyebrow was raised casually. "And what would you do if I don't, Potter?"

"I wouldn't do anything," Harry said coolly. "I think it'd be your Dark Lord that you'd have to worry about."

Something flickered in Avery's eyes, but too quick it was gone. "One day Potter," was said lowly. "The Dark Lord will tire of you."

Harry frowned. _Tire of him?_ What did they think they were, lovers? His frowned deepened as he tried, and regretted, imagining Voldemort naked. Too pale, paper white skin, showing blue and red veins, a caved-in stomach, bony fingers and toes, and a large maniacal grin to top it all off. Harry's stomach gave a lurch. Suddenly a magazine was thrust in front of his face.

"Here Potter, I'll let you borrow it," said Dolohov, still wearing that twisted smirk. Watching the Death Eater warily, Harry pulled it from his unresisting fingers. He opened the door fully and leaned against the doorframe.

"_Witch Weekly_, Dolohov? I didn't know you were into that sort of thing," Harry said, but inside his mind was reeling. On the cover was the same image of Harry and Voldemort holding hands, Nott and Yaxley cropped out of the picture.

"Page 5 is what you want," said Dolohov, completely unaffected by Harry's slight.

Glaring at him, Harry made a show of flipping the pages. Turning his glare down to the glossy pages, he found himself sucking in a breath.

_YOU-KNOW-HOW AND BOY SAVIOR LOVERS_ the title of the article proclaimed. It was accompanied by a grainy photo of Voldemort standing in front of him, telling him to _behave_, shot from a different angle than the cover photo. His white briefs stood out in the dark.

_It seems that Harry Potter has fallen to the charms of the Dark Side, and the Dark Lord. Mr. Potter was seen sending an incendiary spell at a house before turning to You-Know-Who and kissing him fully on the mouth. (To avoid lawsuits for causing insanity, we have not shown this picture)._

_But honestly, who would want a Dark Lord as a lover? Of course, You-Know-Who must be powerful, but he isn't much of a looker. Does using dark rituals to come back to life give you an amazing body, complete with good equipment? If so, sign me up for one…_

Harry threw down the magazine in disgust.

"So Potter, how good is the Dark Lord's equipment?" asked Dolohov nonchalantly.

"HOW WOULD I KNOW?" shouted Harry, feeling blood rush to his face. He abruptly turned around, going back in his cell—er, room—and slammed the door. Avery and Dolohov's laughter still managed to reach his ears. He paced around the room agitatedly a few times. Then he marched back over to the doors and wrenched one open.

"GET ME VOLDEMORT NOW!" he shouted at Avery, who gave a mocking sort of salute, sharing a last laugh with Dolohov before departing down the corridor.

"Damn Death Eaters," Harry muttered, slamming the door again, and throwing himself down on the bed. It hadn't been his fault that those Muggles had stripped him down to his underwear. And photographers had been there, but they hadn't called the Aurors? He scowled. He wouldn't put it past the Death Eaters to have taken those pictures themselves, just to humiliate him.

A few moments later, the door opened. His scar started burning.

"_Crucio_." The force of the unexpected spell flung Harry off the bed. He thrashed about wildly, pain ripping through his body like knives through water. He screamed and screamed. His forehead smashed against the bed leg, making his forehead explode with even more pain.

"_You_ are the pet, Potter," Voldemort said coldly, lifting the spell. "Not the other way around."

Harry lay there panting, eyes shut tightly to prevent them streaming. Voldemort crossed his arms and looked down on him, waiting for him to get up.

"I…need to send a letter," he finally managed to rasp.

The Dark Lord became stony. "Get up!" he snarled, and suddenly Harry was lifted up by his throat. He panicked, and clawed desperately at the magic holding him up. "You called for me _just to send a letter_?"

(_I wouldn't have had to if you didn't keep me here!_) Harry thought furiously as he struggled for air. Just as suddenly, he was released. He landed painfully on his knees, letting out a sharp gasp as the pain jolted through his thighs. He coughed a few times, massaging his throat.

"Well, Potter? This letter?"

Still rubbing his throat, Harry looked up at him. At Voldemort's angry look, he wordlessly handed it over, his hand shaking from the after-effects of the _Crucio_. Casually, the Dark Lord unfolded the letter and started reading it. A look of disbelief came across his snake-like face and he looked down on Harry, who was now leaning against the bed.

"Pet," he purred. "You think it was a mistake, coming to me?" Harry only glared up at him in response. An almost feral grin split his pale face. "Oh, pet. The mistake was not coming to me, it was simply coming unprepared. You are too used to Dumbledore's way of thinking. You light wizards follow the old fool so blindly… you have no idea what you get yourself into, and you don't like the rules that are imposed on you. You don't like the rules, but you don't try to change them either. If you were smarter, Potter, you would have forced Fudge to resign a long time ago, perhaps in your 3rd year, when the Dementors repeatedly targeted you? You could have filed a lawsuit for mental anguish against the ministry. Or in your 4th year, when you were forced into a magical contract (good thing you were though, since it was your blood that brought me back, dearest). I could go on, really…"

"Could you just send the letter, please?" Harry interrupted.

"Of course I can't." After looking at the letter again, the Dark Lord hmm-ed thoughtfully, before striding over to the desk. He pointed his wand at a phrase, and with a spell, the ink started moving itself around, reforming into blobs, making the phrase illegible. Harry made a small noise of surprise.

"I—hey! That's _my_ letter!"

"Of course it is, pet. Would _I_ send a letter to a Mudblood and a blood-traitor?"

"Don't call them that! And you can't just modify my words!"

"Did you really expect me to just let you send off your mail without knowing its contents?"

Green eyes narrowed. "What could I possibly tell them about you? I don't even know what you're planning! I even got lost going to the damn gardens!"

Voldemort didn't even seem to have heard him. "Stupid boy," he was muttering. "You didn't even tell them where you were."

Those words brought a flush to Harry's cheeks. "Well," he said. "I didn't ask them to come and rescue me."

"No, you just said you need to leave. Why, pet? Do you not like it here? With Lord Voldemort?"

"Oh no, I love it here with you," he said sarcastically. "I just didn't like the eggs."

The snake-like man turned towards him, frowning. "You want to leave…because of the eggs?" he asked disbelievingly.

Harry couldn't resist rolling his eyes. "I was being sarcastic, Voldemort."

The snake-like face immediately became stony. He raised his wand and sent a strong stinging hex at him. Harry yelped and clutched his bicep. "What was that for?" he demanded hotly.

"No one makes a fool out of Lord Voldemort. Next time it will be the Cruciatus."

Harry was sorely tempted to say that it had already been done, when he had been vanquished by a _baby_, but kept his mouth shut, not wanting to again be on the receiving end of the Cruciatus. Voldemort glared over at him again. Harry tried his best to look innocent.

"I know what you're thinking, insolent boy. Your thoughts are nearly screaming at me."

Voldemort turned back to Harry's letter. He scowled as he re-read the last line. His Death Eaters could be nice people, just not to Muggles, the useless cattle. "Strange how you don't address the rumors of us being lovers, Potter," he said casually, tucking away his wand.

"They won't believe that," came the stony response. "I sure don't."

"We could be, pet…"

"No, Voldemort, that's the thing; I don't go for snakes."

"You don't?" the Dark Lord seemed genuinely disappointed. "Well, there are glamours, and potions…"

"I'm not into men, either," Harry said flatly.

"Are you sure? Surely there is at least one man you're attracted to. Draco, perhaps?"

"No, the constant sneer on his face always puts me off."

"Perhaps Lucius?"

"He went to school with my parents. And he's tried to murder me on more than one occasion. Just like you," he added cheerily.

"If I do kill you, that would make us even. See, you destroyed my body when you were a year old (I won't say killed, because it's not true), and it is only natural that I'd want to destroy yours."

"If you kill me, I don't have any dark ritual to give me back a body. Which means you wouldn't be able to leer at me anymore."

"Oh pet," Voldemort said, as if he knew something that Harry did not. "It's not the ritual that kept me alive."

"I know. It was unicorn's blood in my first year. I wonder what you did between then and 4th year."

Voldemort only smiled that knowing smile. "Where should I have this sent, pet?" he asked, holding up the letter.

Harry thought about it. "The Burrow," he finally said. "It's outside Ottery St. Catchpole, in Devon."

"The _Weasel_ nest?"

"No, the _Weasley_ nest."

Voldemort started walking towards the door. "I suppose you wouldn't mind if I sent a burning charm along, to send that mismatched shack to the ground?"

"I would, actually."

(_Even if he does, they might not even be there_)

As the Dark Lord grasped the door handle, a sudden thought came to him.

"Voldemort?"

"What is it now?"

"Can I have my wand back?"

"No," came the abrupt answer.

"Why?"

"I don't trust you pet."

"But I can't even hurt you! Not with the _Priori Incantantem_!"

"I only have a few Death Eaters, Potter. I don't need their number to dwindle."

"I'll only attack them if they provoke me."

"Which they'll always do."

"Ah! So you do nothing to stop them?"

"Are they doing you bodily harm?"

Harry scowled. "One day they might."

"True. Don't worry pet. I'll be there to protect you."

"So I can't have my wand?"

"If you came to bed with me, I'd let you have a wand."

"Er…what? A wand in bed? What good would that do?"

Voldemort chuckled and exited.

* * *

**A/N:** The next chapter shall be the escape!

I got the Witch Weekly idea from Emriel, who was wondering why there were no sexual innuendos in the Prophet. (There you go, an entire article, hehe! Hope you like it, because it was hard to do.) I hope the letter was believable, that was what gave me the most trouble. I even went through my OotP and HBP books to look for examples of Harry's letter, and only found one in OotP, when Harry writes to Sirius to tell him about Umbridge and his scar hurting.

I have a question: do any of you think this will turn out to be full slash? Or is the mild slash I have included, with Harry as an unwilling target, enough? I'm curious to hear what you guys think. Please share your thoughts!


	7. Purple TripleDecker Bus

**WARNINGS:** SLASH in this chapter! Here it is again: **SLASH!** The warnings in the first chapter and summary have been changed too. There's also torture.

* * *

Harry waited for a letter for days. He sat on his bed, silently plotting his new escape, all the while glaring back at Rigel Malfoy's portrait. He had to put up with the Death Eaters outside of his door as well, who would occasionally come in and taunt him with new gossip magazines, all announcing more or less the same thing: that Harry Potter, the Chosen One, had joined arms (and other places) with You-Know-Who. He would rip up pages of these publications and fold them in Rigel Malfoy's frame, obscuring his vision.

"Filthy blood-traitor!" the blond would splutter angrily, trying to wave away the pages with a painted hand. "How dare you deface my portrait! Do you know how much I'm worth?"

"No more than this crap they're publishing," Harry muttered. Frustrated with one page that wouldn't go in properly, he applied more pressure. There was a sudden screech.

"Oh! Stupid boy! You're ripped me! You've _ripped_ me! Oh you awful horrid boy! If I had my wand I'd—"

"Oh shut it," Harry snapped, exasperated. "And I didn't rip you on purpose."

"You did!" protested Malfoy, shrilling enough to give Bellatrix a run for her money. "I'll tell the Dark Lord about this!"

There was silence after this. Harry wondered what Voldemort would do when Malfoy came to him, screaming bloody murder about a rip in his portrait. He pictured Voldemort narrowing his red eyes and burning the other portrait Malfoy had, who would then run away sobbing and complaining about how no one loved him. Harry chuckled to himself and resumed putting up the page about the Weird Sisters's bassist's affair with his sister-in-law.

Other times he would put up with Voldemort's presence. Thankfully though, he had only been tortured once, when Voldemort had been in a bad mood and Harry had looked at him the wrong way. To his horror, the Dark Lord had picked him up like a kitten and cradled him to his chest. Harry had been mortified and had fallen to the ground in desperation to get away. Voldemort had only given him this _look_ and pulled him up by his arm so that they could continue their walk.

_(Who knew those skeleton arms could hold me? Hmm... even if I do manage to get his wand from him, could he overpower me physically?_)

And then, four days after Harry had asked Voldemort to send his letter out, the owl returned. Voldemort himself came to give it to Harry, despite all that drivel about _him being the pet and not the other way around_.

Harry took it eagerly from him, flipped it over, and stopped. The envelope had already been opened. Anger and annoyance overtook his eagerness.

"You open my mail too now?" he demanded.

"Of course pet. We wouldn't want any harm to come to you if there were any harmful spells or jinxes on there, now would we?"

Harry bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from replying, and pulled the parchment out of the envelope.

_Dear Ron and Hermione,_

_Please don't burn this just yet._

He flinched. What..? He quickly scanned the letter from the beginning. He flipped it over confusedly. Only an ink stain, which had bled through from the other side, was on the back. And on the front there were no added words.

Harry frowned and let the letter drop from his sight. Had his friends really just sent him back his letter? And taken four (_bloody_) days to do it?

The letter suddenly crumpled in his hands. He whirled to face Voldemort, jaw clenched.

"You..! You did something!" he hissed, almost disbelieving.

Voldemort's non-existent eyebrows raised themselves. "No I didn't."

"You did!" Harry protested, waving the parchment about desperately. "Hermione wouldn't..! They wouldn't..! Well…maybe Ron would, but Hermione wouldn't! You did something, you had to have! You probably didn't even send it!"

"I did," Voldemort said smoothly, voice low and gaze unflinching. "I sent the owl off myself."

"_Liar_!" he shouted indignantly. He whirled back around and smoothed out the paper in his trembling hands. "There has to be _something_, they wouldn't just send it back like they…" His hands formed into fists, re-crumpling the paper. He grabbed at his hair in frustration and gave a low moan.

"Like they didn't want to see it?" Voldemort said. His soft footsteps reached Harry's ears as he came up behind him. A cold finger traced up and down his arm slowly. Harry resisted the urge to bang his head against the desk. Ron would probably been the one to actually receive the letter (that is, if Voldemort sent it at all), since the Burrow _was_ his home. And Harry wouldn't be surprised if Ron _had_ sent it back to him. Memories of his fourth year came to him. No, Harry told himself, this wasn't the same. Back then, Ron had been plain jealous. This time, if the redhead believed the papers

(_but hadn't we learned that lesson that same year?_)

then it was natural that he would turn Harry's attempts at contact away. After all, being friends with a cheater wasn't at all like being friends with a Dark Arts enthusiast.

Voldemort carefully pried the letter from his unresisting fingers and let it fall to the floor. He pulled Harry into a surprisingly gentle embrace from behind.

"Oh pet," he crooned. "Shall I destroy them for you?"

"NO!" he shouted, flinging himself out of Voldemort's too-thin arms. "Get out!"

Voldemort raised a brow. "Pardon me?" he demanded, voice utterly calm.

"GET OUT! I WANT YOU OUT! GET OUT!"

"Pet—"

"_GET OUT_ I SAID!"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, and Harry tensed for a second, sure he was going to be _Crucio_'d to death. Then quite suddenly, Voldemort whirled around gracefully and stalked out, robes swirling around him as if he were Snape.

Harry moaned in desperation, his heart clenching painfully as he bent down to pick up the letter. He spent the next several minutes smoothing it out, rereading it, and crushing it back up over and over again.

(_How could they do this to me again?_)

He slumped against the foot of the bed, feeling unexpectedly tired. Well, he tried telling himself, at least they didn't send him a letter full of insults. He buried his face in his hands.

He sat there for a long time, his mind swirling with memories of his friends. In particular the ones where they were happy, he didn't want to think of them turning their back on him anymore… He thought of how they had all met, how they had become friends, how they had banded together to overcome the obstacles that he seemed to face _every year_. (_Surely Voldemort would attack me sometime in the _middle_ of the year, just to change things around?_) (the snide voice in his head, sounding scarily like Snape, said that this was _summer_ so it did change things around) Surely their friendship was worth more than that trash that the papers were spouting to sell more copies! Hermione of all people would understand that…

He leapt up suddenly. Brow furrowed, he went over to the desk and took out the re-smoothed letter, and started more or less copying it, only this time it would be addressed to Ginny.

Folding it up and putting it in a new envelope, Harry made his way over to the door, and was about to reach for the handle, when he paused. Going to send the letter would mean facing Voldemort, who would no doubt be angry. And he couldn't ask the Death Eaters to do it… He was suddenly hit by the image of the Death Eaters laughing and sneering and mocking as Bellatrix read his letter aloud in a high-pitched baby voice. He shook the image from his mind.

(_Maybe I should wait for tomorrow. Just until he cools off._)

But, Harry argued with himself, this has to be done now. The longer I wait the slower I can plan an escape and get out of here! And with that thought in mind, he yanked open the door, startling Avery and Dolohov (_are those two idiots back?_) into drawing their wands.

"Easy you two," he chided. "I just need one of you to show me to Voldemort's quarters."

Avery narrowed his eyes slightly. "Do not speak his revered name Potter," he spat disdainfully.

"Revered? Oh yes, Avery, I forgot that you have to be a mindless idiot to join the Death Eaters. It _is_ part of the requirements isn't it? That and being part troll?"

Dolohov gave what might have been a snort from behind Harry. Avery sent him a weak glare.

"Come on Potter," Dolohov said, pushing himself away from the wall. "I'll take you to the Dark Lord."

Harry raised a suspicious brow, and so did Avery, he suspected, by his indignant shriek.

"But..! Dolohov!"

"It's fine, Avery. If I do it, it's to see our Lord put Potter at his feet where he belongs."

Avery gave a snort of disbelief, and folded his arms, leaning against the wall. Harry only had time to glance at his stony face, before Dolohov called for him to follow, making his way down the hall. He pulled his robes tighter around himself and followed the Death Eater.

(_Careful Harry. This is the wizard that killed the Prewetts, he didn't hesitate to nearly kill Hermione either…_)

The thought of Hermione was enough to make his palms sweat. He gripped the envelope harder. He hoped that Ginny would read his letter. And he hoped Voldemort wouldn't curse him on the spot.

They twisted through several corridors, often Harry would think that they were going around in circles by the turns they made, and by the little sly glances Dolohov would give him whenever they turned a corner. Harry's hand clenched around air several times. He wished desperately that he had his wand on him, even if Dolohov had several advantages going for him, just the presence of the familiar holly stick would reassure him greatly.

The Death Eater stopped abruptly in front of a dark, polished wood door that looked like any other door in the Manor. He raised his hand to knock.

"I was wondering," Harry mused aloud. "How do you tell all of the doors apart from each other?"

"Pure skill Potter," drawled Dolohov unpleasantly. He knocked softly on the wood and waited a few moments. The door tore open and a bright flash of light propelled from the doorway, knocking into Dolohov and blowing him against the opposite wall.

"I told you fools I was not to be disturbed!" hissed Voldemort, red eyes glinting like embers. Winded, Dolohov pushed himself off of the wall, and fell over his knees instead.

"Master, forgive me. The Potter boy demanded to see you," said the Death Eater, his voice muffled against the carpet. Voldemort turned to Harry quickly, as if he had not seen him there. Those rubies narrowed.

Harry shifted uncomfortably under the Dark Lord's gaze. "Er…hi?"

A minute clench of the pale jaw was his only warning before he was hit by an overpowered Cruciatus. He cried out in surprise before jerking about and falling over. Voldemort lifted the spell quickly, leaving Harry panting. He saw Dolohov grinning cruelly from the other side of the hall. A levitation spell lifted his still shuddering body and floated him inside of the room. He was dropped abruptly, but he didn't even feel the smack of the floor against his back, as Voldemort cast another high powered _Crucio_. He held it for longer this time, face twisted with rage. After nearly a minute, he lifted the curse, hissing dangerously in parseltongue,

"_You do not dismiss me, Potter. Not now and not ever._"

"Sorry," Harry whispered breathlessly, winded from the curse and the screams it had forced from him. "Sorry." His shaking hand reached for the flowing dark robes and caught them, but the tremors were so bad that he couldn't keep his grip on them. Voldemort looked torn, his brow furrowed and he held his arms half out, as if he wanted to help Harry up. Finally, exhaling deeply, the Dark Lord scooped his pet up and laid him on the large bed. He gently waved away the moisture in Harry's eyes with a quick swish of his wand, before straightening up and simply gazing down at his prize.

Harry stared back for a few moments, green eyes betraying his semi-disguised fear. He broke away his gaze and looked around the room instead. Besides his room at the Dursleys', this was probably the least personalized room he had ever been in. The walls were dark wood (surely the Malfoys were rich enough to try out other materials?), had no portraits and one single window above the desk, which was bare, except for a quill and an inkwell. There was a large wardrobe on the opposite wall, and a (wooden) door that presumably led to the bathroom. The mattress, Harry noticed, was much harder than the one he had been provided with. Voldemort reached into the end table next to the bed and pulled out a small potion. Using his wand, he helped Harry sit up, while simultaneously uncorking the vial and tipping some of the substance into Harry's forced open mouth.

Harry struggled against the thick liquid, trying desperately to spit it out, but a sharp, swift motion of Voldemort's yew wand made it click shut firmly.

"_Swallow_," he commanded, still speaking in parseltongue. An invisible hand clamped itself down over his mouth and nose, cutting off his breathing. He thrashed about, rocking from side to side, frantic for air. "_Swallow, pet! Now!_" The hand applied more pressure on his face, clamping down on his nose, making it surely impossible to breathe.

(_No! Poison!_)

It became too much. Black spots started to appear in his vision. His hands clawed uselessly at the non-existent hand, leaving scratches on his own cheeks instead. He finally swallowed. The pressure disappeared in an instant, and he sat up quickly, gulping in lungfuls of air.

Voldemort made a noise that was almost titter-like. "_Really dear, if I had known you would put up such a fight, I would have just let you suffer._" He gazed at him in an almost fond way as Harry rubbed at the scratches on his cheeks.

"_Master?_" came another voice, a female. Harry whipped around, hand going to his robe pocket, hand closing on air… He gave a gasp and nearly tumbled off of the bed. Nagini lay coiled on the bed, her forked tongue flickering in and out of her mouth. Her large yellow eyes stared at him, and she rose, slowly uncoiling to come closer.

"_Stop!_" Harry hissed, trying to back away. "_Stay there!_" Nagini came closer. If snakes could laugh he was sure that she would be now. He bumped into a cold, thin chest. Those too thin arms wrapped around him, trapping him.

"_Enough, Nagini_," Voldemort snapped, sounding irritated. "_Go lay in the sunlight_." She flicked her tongue out at them once more before sliding off of the bed and onto the desk, knocking the inkwell over and crushing the quill. Voldemort gave an almost exasperated sigh and lifted an arm to _Evanesco_ the items away. Harry took this chance to scramble away from him, but to no avail. Voldemort followed him, first laying his wand on the end table before sitting on the bed and pulling Harry towards him, and laying down on it. He forcefully crushed their bodies together, his cold hand snaking its way under Harry's robes to rest on his back. Harry gasped and tried to push him away. This seemed to anger the Dark Lord more, for he rolled them over, pinning Harry's smaller body underneath his, before crushing their mouths together.

Harry's mind went blank as he felt the cold mouth descend onto his. He gasped as Voldemort's other hand went to the back of his head, and an equally cold, slug-like tongue made its way into his mouth. Harry reacted immediately. He clamped his teeth down on the intruding tongue and raised his fists to beat on the body pinning him down. Voldemort recoiled, teeth bared and seeming feral, hand coming up to clamp itself over his mouth and shield his now bleeding tongue. His eyes narrowed, the rage in them unmistakable. He lifted a pale hand to backhand Harry's cheek fiercely, before angrily pushing himself up and snatching his wand off the table. Harry scrambled away, and fell off the bed, knocking his shoulder against the floor in his haste.

They stared at each other for a few moments, eyes locked in a battle of anger against defiance.

Quite unexpectedly, Voldemort's face split into a grin. He tilted his head back ever so slightly and chuckled. Harry just looked at him in confusion, eyes never losing their defiant look.

"Aren't pets supposed to roll over when their masters tell them to?" Voldemort mused aloud.

(_If they don't, you need to train them properly_), but Harry didn't think voicing this thought would be wise.

"Alright, Potter. I know you didn't have Dolohov bring you to me just so you could apologize. Your pride wouldn't allow it. What do you want?"

"My wand," said Harry, as the memory of what Voldemort had said to him a few days ago hit him.

Voldemort looked unimpressed. "Your…wand?"

"I was in bed with you, wasn't I?" demanded Harry.

Voldemort cocked his head to the side, as if bewildered, and then he actually laughed. "Oh pet," he purred playfully. "I didn't mean that you could have your wand if you simply flopped into my bed and fell off of it straight afterwards."

"I didn't fall off of it _straight_ afterwards," Harry muttered.

"But if you did something for me, I might let you have it," Voldemort purred, in a way that Harry decided could be considered seductive (if one was into 70+ year olds who resembled snakes and who were too fond of torturing spells), but instead, this particular tone set him on edge.

"Something for you? I'm not sure I want to now," Harry said, trying to go for a joking tone, even though he was being perfectly serious.

Voldemort's expression didn't waver. "Come here, pet," he said smoothly, sitting back on the bed and patting the spot next to him. Harry carefully picked himself off the floor and slowly sat on the bed. "Closer, pet," Voldemort admonished, playful demeanor not disappearing. Harry inched closer. As soon as he was close enough, Voldemort leapt onto him, pinning him once again to the bed. Harry gasped, instinctively fighting to get away. "Easy now, pet, or I will tie you to the bed. And you wouldn't want that," he warned, voice low, almost descending into parseltongue. Harry stilled reluctantly, the threat of things to come suppressing the urge to defend himself. Voldemort slowly parted Harry's robes fully, revealing the Quidditch toned chest. With a cruel smile he reached up and squeezed a nipple gently. Harry shifted awkwardly, sweat breaking out on his brow. Voldemort leaned forward slowly, excruciatingly slowly, to tease the nipple with his cold tongue. Harry tore his eyes from the sight, revolted.

"Look at me, pet," he commanded, before giving the bud a nip with his teeth. Harry reluctantly complied. After a few moments, Voldemort removed his mouth from Harry's now sore nipple, and moved up for another kiss. Harry couldn't help closing his eyes tightly as Voldemort plundered his mouth. The sheets crumpled in his fists and a cold hand snaked down his torso, and started teasing the waistband of his briefs.

"No," Harry murmured, fisting the sheets desperately. "Don't. Please…"

"Give me a kiss, pet," Voldemort commanded softly. Harry opened his eyes and looked at him as if to say, _are you being serious?_ Voldemort smirked in response and repeated his command. "Give me a kiss, and I'll let you have your wand."

Harry hesitated only for a moment, before carefully craning his head up and gave him a quick peck on the lips. Shuddering, he tore himself away immediately.

"Not good enough…" Voldemort said, sounding almost gleeful. Harry sighed, his entire body coiling in anger. He made a sudden grab for Voldemort's neck, catching it and slamming their lips together for a brief instant, before forcing him away.

Voldemort sat up and smiled, admiring how red his pet's lips became. Harry glared up at him, jaw clenched. Voldemort opened his own robes briefly, sending a quick flash of fear through Harry, but instead of undressing, he simply reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a familiar stick of holly. Harry propped himself up on his elbows and reached happily for his wand when Voldemort offered it to him. As soon as his fingers touched the wood, warmth spread through his fingers, as if the wand was just as happy to be with him again.

"I need something else," he murmured quietly, caressing his wand slowly, not looking up.

"What?" asked Voldemort, sounding breathless.

"I need you to send another letter out. Please," he added.

Voldemort looked put off.

(_I bet he thought you were going to ask him to help you wank. Hah! Sicko!_)

"Why? I thought having one letter sent back was enough," he said acidly.

"If you could disguise my writing, hopefully, it won't be sent back." Harry held out the envelope, head tilted to the side.

Voldemort snatched it from him irritably, took out the letter and waved his wand over it several times. "Trixie!" he called. The tiny elf that had appeared in the study appeared with a sharp _crack_, and threw itself down at Voldemort's feet.

"May Trixie serve the Master Lord?" squeaked the elf, its words nearly incomprehensible.

"Get me an owl," he said simply, tucking the parchment back in its envelope.

"Yes, Master Lord!" said the elf, and it Disapparated quickly.

"Isn't it boring," Harry mused aloud. "Having everyone fear you?" He met Voldemort's gaze calmly.

"Not everyone fears me, _pet_." Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Trixie _crack_ed back in, the barn owl struggling in her hands. Voldemort took the owl, none too gently, and tied the letter to its leg with a conjured piece of string. He opened the window and practically threw it out. Harry watched it for a long time, wondering if there were wards that wouldn't allow the owl to get through. But the owl flew on, and Harry watched it until it was but a speck in the sky.

"Happy now, pet?" Voldemort asked, seeming surly.

"I'll be happier when I get her response," Harry said truthfully.

Voldemort's expression soured even more. "Writing to that Mudblood, are we?"

"No. And don't call her that."

"It doesn't matter Potter. You should cherish your time with her, since your time is limited."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded.

"Oh, nothing…Run along and play, pet…" Voldemort turned to Nagini and began stroking her scales. Harry huffed and left the room quickly. He paused outside of the door.

(_Run along, didn't he say? Well, I don't mind._)

He got another portrait to point him to the gardens, and tried to sneak out as stealthily as possible. He almost got caught by Bellatrix, who was mumbling to herself and making a potted plant twitch with various wand movements. He swallowed his urge to do something to her and snuck past her.

Soon enough, he was out in the gardens. He slunk close to the wall, sure that the Death Eaters would be more alert now that he had already slipped by them once. But even as he ran to the iron gates, no one stopped him, no one even flung a spell at him. He quickly turned the handle, and the gate opened. He wondered briefly if it was a trap of some sort, but a quick revealing spell showed nothing. He sprinted away as fast as his legs could carry him. Surely they would not just leave the gate unguarded! He ran to the right this time, not wanting to see the remains of the village that the Death Eaters had been ordered to destroy because of him.

(_Forget the Muggles, Potter! And run!_)

So he ran for what seemed like hours, until he was exhausted. He cast a quick Cooling charm on himself, and started jogging instead. When he felt that he was sufficiently far from the Manor, he raised his wand hand, as if hailing a taxi.

After a few moments, an enormous, purple, triple-decker bus materialized out of nowhere with a _BANG_. The doors opened, revealing a gangly, pimpled teenager, who greeted him in a bored voice, before actually looking at his face and letting out a shout.

"Blimey! Ernie, look! It's 'Arry Potter again!" Stan exclaimed, his eyes wide.

Ernie craned his neck around to look at him, eyes squinting despite his thick glasses.

Harry scowled. "Can I get on the bus, please?" he asked, irritated.

"Oh yea, o' course!" Stan quickly stepped to the side. "No luggage?" Harry shook his head. "Where you be goin'?"

"Number…11 Grimmauld Place. It's in London, I think."

"Did ya 'ear that, Ernie?"

"11 Grimmauld Place," repeated Ernie, shutting the doors and the bus zoomed off. Luckily Harry caught hold of a pole and didn't completely fall over.

"That'll be 20 sickles, please."

"20? The last time I went to London it wasn't nearly as much."

"Yea, but we're much further out now."

Harry scowled and reached into his pockets. Feeling only the lining, his eyes widened in panic.

(_Oh dear…_)

He frantically searched all of his pockets, his robes falling open.

"Erm…" said Stan, sounding strange. "Are ye…_naked_ under da' robe?"

Harry looked at him in shock. "Of course not!" he exclaimed, pulling the robe tighter around himself. "I mean… I was held prisoner… by Vol—I mean, You-Know-Who," he said, at Stan's flinch.

Stan gasped. "You mean 'den… dat you aren't _lovers_ with dat _thing_?" he asked, looking horrified.

"Are you mad?" Harry allowed a bit of contempt to creep into his voice. "He appeals to me as much as the Giant Squid at Hogwarts does."

Stan just looked at him for a few moments. "So… you don' 'ave any money?"

"No. But I'll pay you back, I promise."

"Er…OK…" and Stan turned around to watch Ernie drive, still seemingly shocked by Harry's declarations. Harry took this opportunity to sneak off, throwing himself quickly in an armchair near the back of the bus.

He gripped the armchair firmly, as the bus tossed the passengers around. A suitcase nearly knocked him over the head, but luckily Ernie changed directions in the nick of time. They made a few stops, each passenger descending looking a little more ill than the last. Finally, Stan called out his stop. He got up quickly, and wrapped his robe tighter around himself at Stan's little glances.

"Remember, Mr. Potter, 20 sickles."

"Don't worry, I will." And he got off of the bus. The doors closed with a hiss, and the bus immediately went off down the street, narrowly missing a sign post.

(_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number 12 Grimmauld Place_)

As soon as the thought came to mind, numbers 11 and 13 began to move away from each other as another house squeezed between them. Soon enough, number 12 had appeared, and Harry, after looking right and left for any Muggles who might be watching, unlocked the door, and stepped inside quietly.

The place was just as it had been when Harry had left

(_Days ago? Or is it a week now?_)

. Harry decided to go into the kitchen, where he was sure to find someone. He went to the end of the hallway and started to descend the narrow staircase there, when he started to hear the low murmur of voices. Getting excited, he hurried down the staircase and entered the cavernous room. He stopped and just regarded all of the familiar faces. No one seemed to notice him at first, but one person saw him, and nudged the person next to him, and so on, until the entire room was staring at him.

"Um… hi?"

But that was as far as he got, because a Stunner came out of the crowd and hit him square in the chest.

* * *

**A/N:** I was really surprised that all of the readers that reviewed the last chapter said that full slash would be prefered. Oh well. I suppose I scared away all of the het readers a while ago...

You might have noticed this chapter is twice as long as the previous ones. I'll going to be moving around next week, so I'm not sure if I'll be able to update after the next 10 days or so. Hopefully this long chapter and the slash will hold you guys over. Happy new year!


	8. Old Rotting House

**WARNINGS: **Wow, none! I'm getting pretty good at this!

* * *

Severus Snape sat at the long wooden table down in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, or the "Dog House" as he preferred to privately call it. He watched rather disdainfully as the other Order members ran about and squabbled like a bunch of headless chickens about _Potter_. His lip curled reflexively into a sneer even as the name appeared in his head.

(_Idiot boy had the nerve to run away from the Dark Lord… I can just _imagine_ Avery's screams…_)

Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, like he always did, and was deep in conversation with Mad-Eye Moody, who was saying that they should wrap the boy in chains and force Veritserum down his throat. Severus himself didn't mind the idea, especially if the boy was uncooperative. Minerva McGonagall was next to the odd pair. Her face was splotched with red, and her lips were thin as she listened to Mad-Eye's interrogation suggestions. She finally exploded, saying that _he was just a boy, for Merlin's sake_ and that they didn't need _an old paranoid Auror to force answers from him_! Moody and McGonagall then started to argue with each other, the ex-Auror's electric blue eye fixed on the Scottish witch's face. Dumbledore watched them calmly, seeming almost amused by them.

He glanced over at Molly and Arthur Weasley, but gave a brief roll of his eyes and looked away. The Weasley matriarch was going on about how they had _manhandled the poor boy_. Her husband was trying to calm her down, but it was obvious from the way his blue eyes shone that he was just as angry about the situation. He looked over lazily at Lupin, who was sitting next to them, and listening to Tonks rant. The werewolf looked up and held his gaze. His eyes shone with worry, before his attention was once again taken by the metamorphmagus.

Snape looked away and focused instead on the younger "members" (not that they were quite old enough to join, but everyone knew that Dumbledore was becoming senile), who were talking quietly amongst themselves. Granger had her head bent, whispering to Ginny Weasley, her cheeks moist with tears, and her cheeks colored from frustration. The little Weaslette was also reddened, the color clashing with her hair.

"Ron got a letter from Harry a few days ago," Weaselette was saying. "Dad said that an owl had been waiting at the Burrow, and it was addressed to you and Ron. He started reading it, but then he started turning this awful shade of purple, and he nearly ripped the letter up."

"What?" Granger was asked, sounding appalled. "Harry sent a letter?" She rounded on Ron. "Ron! You didn't say Harry sent you a letter!"

"What was there to say?" the Weasel demanded angrily, red creeping up his neck.

"He was reaching out to us, Ron!"

"He's joined the Death Eaters, Hermione!"

"He wouldn't, Ron! How could you say that?"

"He _willingly_ left, Hermione! During the middle of the night, no less! If he wasn't working for You-Know-Who, then what was he doing?"

"No, Ron…he couldn't be part of the Death Eaters!

(_Indeed, little know-it-all, he…enjoys a much more important position_)

Why would he? He has no reason to! Voldemort's tried to kill him so many times! He killed his parents! The Death Eaters tried to kill us just a few months ago!"

"His reasons for joining don't matter Hermione! I'll bet he tried to show the Death Eaters where we are, and have them kill us all…"

The hard crack of a palm meeting a cheek had everyone's head turning over to their end of the table. Snape could not stop the smirk from coming across his face, just as the force of Granger's slap bloomed color on the young Weasley's cheek.

The girl was on her feet, chair knocked over. She was in tears. "How could you say that, Ronald! Harry's our _friend_! He wouldn't try to have us killed, and he most certainly wouldn't go dark!" With that, she stormed out of the room. Weaselette gave a withering look to her brother and exited the room as well.

"Well, we all have Miss Granger's opinion," chuckled Dumbledore. No one else laughed. Snape raised an eyebrow dryly. Thankfully, they were spared more jokes by Mundungus Fletcher's arrival.

"He's awake," said the stout man. With those simple words, Molly Weasley was already dashing towards the door, dragging Arthur behind her. The other Order members hurried towards the door as well. Severus followed at a more leisurely pace.

* * *

When Harry woke up, he felt groggy. He frowned as he tried to sit up, only to realize that thick corded ropes, undoubtedly from an _Incarcerous_, were wrapped tightly around his body. He stared confusedly at them, before he remembered that he had escaped back to Grimmauld Place. He wriggled around in excitement, trying to sit up again, but the ropes bit into his skin and he fell back down.

"Go get Dumbledore," he heard someone mutter. He turned his head, squinting to try and get a look at the person. A stout, blurry figure went towards the wall- er, no, door—and went out. The other figure, was tall and dark. This figure approached and gently slid his glasses onto his face. Immediately the room came into focus. Kingsley Shacklebolt peered curiously at him.

"How are you feeling?" asked the man in his deep, gravelly voice.

"Fine, I s'pose. These ropes could be less tight though."

"I know," said Kingsley, sounding sympathetic. "Mad-Eye's idea. Said we can't be too careful."

Harry wiggled some more. "Can you just ask me whatever questions you need and get me out of these things, please?"

Kingsley gave him a _look_. "Oh, we've got questions Potter. Don't worry about _that_."

Harry shrunk down in his ropes. The door suddenly burst open, startling Kingsley into drawing his wand. Mrs. Weasley ran past him, seemingly not noticing him, and fell to his knees next to Harry's bed. Mr. Weasley came in slower, and a glance at Kingsley made him put the wand away.

"Harry dear? Are you alright?" Mrs. Weasley's eyes were bright with concern and anger. Harry shrunk down more. "Arthur! Help me get these ropes off of him."

Mr. Weasley looked uncomfortable. "Molly…"

"Yes?" the woman said, turning around. Most of the Order looked back at her from the doorway, all looking wry. She frowned, looking slightly downtrodden. The crowd at the door parted to admit Professor Dumbledore, who was followed by Snape.

Dumbledore came over and kneeled by the bed as well, though Snape stayed in his place at the door, looking plain impassive.

"I'm afraid we can't let him out just yet Molly." Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to protest, but Dumbledore cut her off with a simple raising of his hand. "Now…"He turned his attention back to Harry. "Are you willing to cooperate, or will we have to bring out the Veritserum?" His normally warm eyes were now ice cold diamonds.

"I'll cooperate," said Harry, rather unnerved by this new Dumbledore.

"Good. " And for the next thirty minutes he was drilled relentlessly on things that only he, Harry Potter, would know by almost all of the Order members that knew him well. Snape took great pleasure in interrogating him on their failed Occlumency lessons of last year, though he carefully left out the part where Harry had sent his own spell back at him, or when he had peeked in his pensieve. Once they had decided that he was who he was, Dumbledore gave a wave of his wand and the thick ropes disappeared. Harry sat up and rubbed at his arms, where the ropes had really cut into him.

"Forgive me, my boy, but one must be cautious in such times, especially after that little stunt you pulled," Dumbledore said, peering down at Harry disapprovingly.

"I know," Harry mumbled, wrapping the robe tighter around himself.

"And why don't you have any clothes on?"

"I…don't want to talk about that…"

A collective gasp came from the Order members (except for Snape, who gave a snort, knowing more or less nothing had happened, much to the chagrin of the Dark Lord), and a low murmur of voices started up.

"Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. A hush promptly fell over the room. "Did Voldemort—"

"No," Harry said immediately, not wanting to hear the word, not wanting to have that mental image. "All he did was…touch."

The whispers started up again. "That monster!" he heard Mrs. Weasley exclaim to her husband.

"The question I was going to ask was," the Order members quieted once again. "Did Tom make you take up Dark practices?"

"Of course not," Harry snapped. "And he hasn't forced me to be his lover either, if you're getting your ideas from _Witch Weekly_."

The female (and some male) Order members mumbled something and looked at their feet. Snape gave a discreet roll of his eyes. Dumbledore just looked saddened.

"You do know that there will be consequences for even going over to Tom?"

"Snape does it all the time, doesn't he?" Harry retorted.

"I have great trust in _Professor_ Snape, Harry. And he does it on my orders."

"And you don't trust me?"

"It is not a matter of trust, Harry. I know that Tom can be very persuasive and charismatic—"

"I didn't go to him because I like the Dark Arts!"

"Then why did you go?"

"Because I was angry!" Harry shouted. "And because I was tired!"

"Beds 'ere not good enough for ya, eh Potter?" he heard Mundungus mutter. He was promptly elbowed in the ribs by Tonks.

Harry couldn't stop the scowl. "It had nothing to do with beds," he snapped.

"Then why were you angry, Harry?" Dumbledore asked softly.

Harry gave a sigh and leaned against the wall, musing about how this wasn't much different from the last time he had escaped from Voldemort. Except this time, he was supposed to be with people he could trust and was trusted back. That and this time, he had a robe to cover himself. The voice in his head chuckled to itself.

"Harry?" came Mrs. Weasley's voice. He looked at her, before remembering the question.

Harry ran a hand through his hand, sighing tiredly. "I…" he started, staring at his robes and how they contrasted with the white sheets. "Why didn't you tell me why Voldemort was after me in my first year?"

"Harry," Dumbledore said, seemingly aging before his eyes. "Would you have truly wanted to know that at age eleven?"

"I don't know," he admitted lowly. "But it would have really been nice to know."

"One should never burden a child of eleven with such dark things, Harry. I simply wanted to preserve your innocence."

"What innocence?" Harry snapped, all tiredness drained from him, a mild burst of rage fueling him instead. "I was cooking the Dursleys' breakfast by the time I could reach the damned stove! I had to have worse grades than Dudley, and to do that I had to purposely choose all the wrong answers… I got old socks as birthday presents, a box of dog biscuits, a tissue…"

"'Ow ungrateful, Potter…I could use a pair of ol' socks, I sure could…" came the quiet voice of Mundungus. The predictable grunt of pain followed afterwards.

"And then it took escaping from Hogwarts and leading a bunch of my schoolmates against a group of Death Eaters, and _Sirius dying_ to get you to tell me about what I was supposed to do."

"Well," started Mundungus, but Tonks aimed a _Silencio_ at him. After their intervention, no one else seemed to have any words for Harry.

"Would you have truly wanted to know at age eleven, Harry?" Dumbledore repeated, eyes filled with sadness.

"You could have told me earlier," Harry accused. "Earlier, even after fourth year…"

"Would that have helped you, Harry?"

"It would have helped! I watched Cedric _die_, I participated in a Dark ritual, and _still_ I didn't fully know why Voldemort wanted me dead! And..! And he had my blood, why would I need to keep going back to Privet Drive? WHY?"

"Your aunt's blood contains your mother's protection, Harry, I've told you this…"

"And you've told me that my mother's love protected me. Well, guess what, my aunt doesn't love me! I TOLD YOU SHE DOESN'T GIVE A DAMN!"

"As long as you call Privet Drive home—"

"I DON'T CALL IT HOME! IT'S THE LAST PLACE ON EARTH THAT I'D THINK OF IF I WERE THINKING ABOUT _HOME_!"

Dumbledore just looked weary. Harry felt his throat seizing up, as if someone were choking the anger and bitterness out of him.

"It doesn't make _sense_! None of it does..! I just..! I don't..!" he trailed off, burying his face in his hands.

"I am sorry, Harry," Dumbledore finally said, sounding tired. "Truly, I am. My apologies will not make everything better—"

(_You're damn right, they won't_)

"but I can assure you that Tom can not help you either."

"What am I supposed to do, then?"

"I suggest that you stay here for some time, take even the whole summer if you need it, and just think. Think about yourself, not about I, and not about Tom, we have both equally wronged you." He paused. "Perhaps you would like to see Miss Granger and Miss Weasley later on?"

It didn't even register in his dazed mind that Dumbledore had said _Miss _instead of _Mr_ Weasley. "Sure."

Dumbledore nodded, and swept out of the room, a simple hand gesture making the Order members follow him out, leaving Harry alone, in a room that was not the one he and Ron usually shared. He looked up, scowling as he saw that Snape was still standing in the doorway.

"What is it?" he asked wearily.

Snape leveled a glare at him that said _Don't give me that tone, Potter._ "Is there anything in particular that I should tell the Dark Lord? That you tripped over the threshold of the building and knocked yourself out, perhaps?" he asked dryly, arms folded as he leaned casually against the doorway.

"Go away," Harry muttered, flopping down on the pillow-less bed. "I haven't got the energy to deal with you."

"And you think the Dark Lord will allow you to rest when you ask him to stop his torture? Do you think that perhaps he will give you kittens and unicorns and welcome you back with open arms?"

"I'm not going back."

"He will be so thrilled," Snape deadpanned.

"Go away," Harry repeated, staring up grimly at the ceiling.

Snape stared at him for a few moments, before saying something that sounded suspiciously like a comparison between him and his filthy father, before exiting and closing the door with a snap.

Harry laid there for a long time.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope my portrayal of Dumbledore and Snape were alright. Dumbledore was really difficult, because he speaks like some sort of strange poet, in a different way than Snape does.

And I want to annonce that I have more than 100 different people that are either subscribed to this story or have it favorited. YAY for me! :D


	9. Old Rotting Room

**WARNINGS:** Cursing

* * *

Hermione and Ginny arrived only just before Harry was starting to doze off. He couldn't help it, even though he knew Voldemort would try and contact him through their link.

(_He won't find us anyways, Fidelius charm would still block the information in my mind…I hope…_)

Sunshine flickered through the dirty window, pouring warmth onto his face. It was too easy to just let his body loosen up in relaxation, his air coming in and out easily of his lungs. That tranquility bubble was promptly burst by the sound of the door slamming against the adjacent wall as it was thrown open. The hinges squealed. The clock fell off of the wall. Harry's eyes flew open. His wand was out in an instant, pointing at the intruders. Ginny grinned sheepishly at him and gingerly, as if trying to make up for the fact that she had done such damage, took the doorknob in her hand and closed it slowly. Hermione slipped through the narrowing space and tutted at the younger redhead.

"Ginny…" she started.

"I know! It was an accident! Sorry, Harry. Were you sleeping?"

"Almost," he muttered, putting his wand away.

"Sorry," she said, before coming over and bouncing down onto the bed. Hermione followed at a much more sedated pace. She regarded Ginny, and then regarded Harry. The redhead gave an almost imperceptible nod, and leaned over and smacked Harry upside the head.

"Ah!" came Harry's cry of surprise. He scrambled away from her. "What was _that_ for?"

"For abandoning us for Malfoy!" said Ginny, giving him a glare.

"Well, I actually abandoned you for Voldemort, but okay…"

This time was subjected to both of the girls' glares.

"Harry," said Hermione angrily. "What were you thinking going over there?"

Harry rubbed at his face wearily, not in the mood to have this conversation. He repeated this sentiment aloud, and was rewarded by two smacks on the head.

"Ow! Get away!"

"Harry," Hermione said sternly.

"Hermione, will you just let up? I won't be going back over there, alright?"

She gave him a glare that clearly said _I don't believe you and you'd better start talking_.

Harry sighed and shook his head. "Where's Ron?"

"Don't try and change the subject, Harry," Ginny admonished crossly.

"Well I don't feel like having to tell the tale a third time. Where is he?" Harry demanded.

The two girls looked at each other for a moment. Hermione pursed her lips and said quietly, "He thinks you've joined the Death Eaters."

"What?" Harry cried, brows shooting into his hairline. "Is he mad?"

"Angry mad?" muttered Ginny. "Sure. Mad mad? He's always been."

"I have no reason to join the Death Eaters

(_Of course, since you're actually Voldemort's _pet_, joining the Death Eaters would be like a demotion, wouldn't it?_)

. Does he know that?" he demanded, hands balling into fists.

"I don't know what's going through his head, Harry," said Hermione, sounding tired. "But think about it, if Ron disappeared in the middle of the night and the papers announce that he's gone off and joined the Death Eaters and is now You-Know-Who's…_lover_," she forced the word out of her mouth. "What would you think?"

"I'd honestly day that he'd gone barmy, especially since they're camping out at Malfoy Manor. But he'd wouldn't get far enough to actually join the Death Eaters, since he'd be ranked underneath Malfoy," said Harry bluntly.

"They're at Malfoy Manor?" asked Ginny and Hermione at the same time.

"Yeah, that's where I went." He gave a chuckle. "It's like… a palace. Especially compared to here," he said, as he caught sight of a spider inching up the opposite wall.

Hermione and Ginny shared a frown. Harry stared at the spider for a few more moments, before turning back to the two girls. "Could one of you get Ron for me?"

They shared another look, prompting Harry into a quick eye roll. Hermione nodded once, before pushing herself up off of the bed and heading towards the door. She opened it, stepped out, gave Ginny one last look, and pulled it closed.

"What's with all these looks you're giving each other?" asked Harry, unable to decide whether he should be amused or irritated.

"It's nothing," said Ginny, tossing her long hair over her shoulder casually. "So…what did You-Know-Who do when he saw you? We're all surprised you're still alive," she said, grinning.

"Well, Harry Potter's not," Harry said sarcastically. "I'm a clone made from Polyjuice and the remains of his mangled body. I…" He didn't get much further, seeing Ginny's horrified face. He stared at her. "You know I'm only joking, right?"

Ginny looked away and shook her head, sighing. "Oh Harry," she said. "I…" she took a deep breath and shook her head again. "We're all a little on edge since you…went off. You know that Ron won't be reasonable, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry started, shrugging.

"And for once, I don't blame him! Going to You-Know-Who…you know what someone like Rita Skeeter would do, don't you?" Harry opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "And you know that everyone will believe what the Prophet writes!"

"But..! Hermione! And Skeeter!"

"I said _someone like_! And the fact that they've been hailing you as _the Chosen One_ just last week doesn't help!"

"It's not my fault!" Harry finally shouted. "I don't _tell_ the Prophet to write all this crap about me! _The Chosen One! The Chosen One! Voldemort's lover!_" he mimicked the headlines in a high-pitched voice. "Who CARES what everyone thinks? Do I have to be completely devoted to Dumbledore and follow everything he says blindly to defeat Voldemort? THAT'S NOT HOW THAT WORKS!"

Ginny just stared at him. She swallowed and looked at her feet. "Harry… it's just…don't you remember how hard it was during the Triwizard Tournament?"

"Oh no, I had completely forgotten, because it wasn't at all frustrating," he snapped.

She gave him a glare for his outburst. "The papers can make your life so much harder Harry," she said angrily, returning her gaze to her shoes. She took several deep breaths. "When you finally do kill You-Know-Who, people will remember these articles. It's stupid, but people just aren't willing to take chances nowadays! It's _war_, Harry," she whispered glumly, lifting her eyes to look at him again. "And I don't want you to have to deal with that later."

Harry stayed silent. He did not know what to say.

They regarded each other for a long while. Harry could almost feel the worry rolling off of her in waves. Slowly, he leaned forward and clasped her hand in his own clammy one. "It'll be fine, Gin. I'm not going back over to him unless I absolutely have to."

She stared at him, troubled. "That won't be good enough, Harry." And that simple sentence sent his mind back to the First War, the one his parents had fought and died in, the one the Aurors were permitted to use Unforgivables in, the one where people were sent to Azkaban without trials and stayed there for years of their life. He was suddenly hit by a vision of himself back in the courtroom, with Umbridge as the judge.

(_Hem hem Mr. Potter. You are hereby sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban for fraternizing with the enemy. Hem hem, take him away_)

Or better still Umbridge would show up at Malfoy Manor and arrest him in front of the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself.

(_Hem hem Mr. Potter. You are hearby arrested for fraternizing with the enemy. Hmm, who's that strange disfigured gentleman over there? Oh! _Half-breed_, of course… Perhaps we could arrest him as well?_

_Sorry Madame Undersecretary, not for being a half-breed._

_Pity. Take Potter away, boys._)

"Harry?" came Ginny's voice. She looked at him curiously.

The door creaked open. Hermione stood in the doorway and peered in, a stony faced Ron behind her. She gestured to Ginny wordlessly, and the redhead nodded to her. She gave Harry's hand a squeeze and a small smile before getting up and following Hermione out, giving Ron a passing glare.

"Go Ron," said Hermione firmly, her voice pinched.

If possible Ron's expression soured even more as he stepped inside the small room. As soon as the door closed, he was on Harry.

"So you've joined the Death Eaters _and_ you're coming onto my sister, huh, Harry?" Ron demanded.

"I haven't joined the Death Eaters, and I'm not _coming onto your sister_ either," said Harry almost irritably.

"You think I believe that?" the redhead growled. "Running off in the middle of the night? And I'll bet Snape brought you over there too. Having fun learning how to cast Unforgivables?" he mocked coldly.

"I didn't go over there to learn the Dark Arts, Ron. And if you say anything about us being—"

"Don't say it, Harry. I don't want to have to Oblivate myself and relearn this bloody mess a second time."

"Ron, you can't believe everything the papers say—"

"When did I say _anything_ about the papers? I haven't said one word about the papers, or what they've written!"

"_Harry! You've joined the Death Eaters!_"

"Well…other than that! And that's just common sense! Do you know how many spells Dumbledore took off of you? All sorts of Dark tracking spells, even an eavesdropping charm! You were trying to lead them here!"

"What? No, Ron, I'd never—"

"Never what, Harry? Never put us in danger? Never risk our lives? WHAT, HARRY?"

"I'D NEVER LEAD THEM HERE! NEVER ON PURPOSE!"

"YOU LEFT, AND THEN YOU CAME BACK, WHAT DID YOU EXPECT? You think You-Know-Who would just let you go off freely?"

"I _came back_, doesn't that count for anything?"

"NOT WHEN YOU LEFT IN THE FIRST PLACE, IT DOESN'T!"

They were both heaving and red in the face, standing inches apart from each other.

"What do you want me to say, Ron?" Harry finally asked, wanting to pull out his hair in frustration. "I'm sorry, alright? I'M SORRY I WENT OVER TO VOLDEMORT, ALRIGHT RON?"

"THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH, HARRY!" Ron bellowed. "WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU GO OVER TO HIM? YOU'VE NO REASON, EVERYONE YOU KNOW IS ON THIS SIDE—"

"I WAS ANGRY! I WAS BLOODY ANGRY! I WAS KEPT IN THE DARK FOR YEARS ABOUT EVERYTHING, ABOUT THE WIZARDING WORLD, ABOUT THIS STUPID WAR, AND SUDDENLY," he switched over to a sarcastic tone. "With the magic appearance of a_ prophecy_, suddenly everyone's hailing me as _the Chosen One_

(_who the hell comes up with these fucking titles_)

and I've got to kill Voldemort or everyone's _doomed_ and if he does manage to take over the world and I'm still living I've no doubt _whatsoever_ that the Prophet and Rita Skeeter and all of those people will have a bloody field day with me as their ever faithful scapegoat. And the bloody adults here can't even handle us _children_," he shouted, flinging a hand in the door's direction. "The Ministry's bloody _incompetent_, thinking Dumbledore was bloody training an army to take over the Ministry when he could easily take it over through his influence, he wouldn't even have to resort to violence, he'd just say _SILENCE_ in that weird way he does and Fudge would probably fall over and wet himself and I—"he stopped abruptly, catching sight of Ron was staring at him bewilderedly. They stared at each other.

Ron blinked slowly and shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. "What were we talking about again?"

"We were arguing, Ron."

"Ok, well, what were we arguing about?"

"Me apparently joining the Death Eaters," Harry said dryly.

"Oh…" Ron's eyes suddenly narrowed. "You've got some explaining to do, Harry."

Harry sighed, but resisted the urge to smack his hand against his forehead.

Ron looked towards the door. "You think they're listening?" he whispered, so quietly that Harry almost didn't hear him. Harry's eyes widened, then narrowed. In two long steps he had crossed the room, over to the door and wrenched it open. There, huddled around the door, were Ginny, Hermione, Fred, George, and even Tonks. They all had the decency to look sheepish as Harry and Ron gave them angry looks.

"Er…you should really learn Silencing Charms, Harry," Tonks said, eyes darting all over the place.

"Don't have a _job _to go to, Tonks," Harry snapped irritably, pushing past them. Ron glowered at them and followed Harry down the hall.

_Crack._ Fred and George materialized in front of them. "Harry…" one of them said. "You and Ronnikins sure can shout, mate."

"We didn't even need the Extendable Ears," the other one said matter-of-factly to his twin.

"Can't you two go and bother someone else?" Ron asked. "Or better yet, go and run your stupid shop?"

"Stupid, Ickle Ronnikins?" said the second one, catching Ron by his shoulder, his other hand over his heart.

"Our shop isn't stupid at all…" said the first, grabbing Ron's other shoulder, and pulling a wand out of his pocket. "Just watch what this trick wand can do…"

And then the wand started widening, the topmost part stopping before the bottom, and four legs sprouting out from either side. The wand became darker, becoming black, and sprouting short hairs all over itself…

Ron's eyes became saucers. Giving an almighty shriek, he twisted out of the twins' grip and fled, leaving his brothers cackling behind him.

"You two shouldn't capitalize on his fears, you know," Harry said, unable to stop the smile from breaking out on his face.

"Why _ever_ not, Harry?" the twins said simultaneously, and Harry suddenly saw Voldemort's head on both of their bodies. "And by the way Harry, what did you go over to You-Know-Who for? It just doesn't make sense!"

"I thought you two were _eavesdropping_," Harry said dryly.

"Well of course we were. But you didn't say anything very clearly."

This time, Harry went ahead and smacked his forehead.

* * *

**A/N:** Don't know about you guys, but I feel like this chapter is mostly filler... and plus it was hell to write. Not an extraordinary combination, is it? And no Voldemort action either, I know some people wanted that, but I did put in some of the other HP characters...

Don't forget to review! ^_^


	10. Old Dank Kitchen

**WARNINGS:** slight torture, cursing, and slight HP/GW (yeah, had to put that in the warnings, because aren't all the people reading this story slash-addicts? :p)

* * *

A few days later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were almost like they had been before. That is, if one didn't count the worried looks Hermione would sometimes send Harry or Ron when she thought Harry wasn't looking. Harry would ignore these looks to the best of his ability.

Harry didn't bother trying to eavesdrop on Order meetings anymore either. Ron went to them openly nowadays, and Harry didn't feel like redoing the thing that had led him to ask help from _Snape_ of all people, to get a Portkey to see Voldemort.

Harry didn't try to sleep either. Every time he did, his mind would be assaulted by visions Voldemort would send him; various Muggles being tortured and then killed in merciless ways, various Death Eaters being tortured for different failures, Harry himself naked and thrashing about, in pleasure or pain he didn't want to know. So in the middle of the night he would be woken, mostly by Hermione or Ron or Ginny, covered in sweat and tears, his throat raw from screaming, and ready to gouge his eyes out and cut his own cock off for daring to harden from those _horrid_, _horrid_ visions.

Whenever Ron was the one to wake him, he would awkwardly pat him on the back, eyeing the tent in the sheets and swallowing back hard what was undoubtedly bile. Hermione and Ginny would tentatively wrap him in their arms, whispering nonsensical murmurs into his ears.

(_But it's not alright. And it won't be._)

Ginny would give small kisses to his cheek, never nearing his lips. He would calm considerably from these, almost wishing that she would kiss him on the mouth, if only to erase the memory of Voldemort's cold ones on his own. Even in his dreams, the Dark Lord would leer down at him, in a very strange, almost loving way, before crushing their mouths together, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip, drawing blood, before breaking away to force his cold, disgusting tongue in. Harry had started drinking only hot drinks, pouring the mug out if he left it to cool too much, not wanting the cold in his mouth again.

On the day of the O.W.L. results and Hogwarts book lists, Harry did not receive one of the latter. Disappointed that he only received an E in Potions, he did not even notice the lack of book list until he heard Hermione exclaiming over the book for Defense against the Dark Arts. Fidgeting in his seat in the kitchen, he looked at them worriedly as they read theirs. Hermione glanced over at him, and did a double take.

"Didn't you get one, Harry?" she asked. He shook his head mutely. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. Harry was so confused he didn't even react.

"I'm sure Dumbledore will still let you go, mate," said Ron, with a confidence that Harry wish he felt. "Doesn't he believe in second chances and all?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Harry mumbled.

"It'll be fine, Harry," said Hermione, folding up her letter and placing it neatly back in the envelope. "Remember about Hagrid?"

"Yeah, but Hagrid didn't actually open the Chamber of Secrets. I actually went over to Voldemort and he proclaimed me as his _pet_," he muttered angrily.

"What did you say?" demanded Hermione shrilly.

(_Oh damn did I say that out loud?_)

"Hmm?" Harry said, feigning ignorance. "What did I say?"

"_He proclaimed you as his pet_?"

"Er…well…"

"Harry…this…I…" she promptly burst into tears. Harry and Ron's eyes became saucers. Then Ron's narrowed to level a glare at Harry. Harry gave him a frown.

"_Pet_?" Ron demanded, eyes becoming slits.

(_This is _exactly_ why I didn't want them to know…_)

(_I agree. There are some things that are just better left off as private. And there are other things that you should take with you to the grave. Like that little tidbit you just said aloud. Idiot!_)

"Ron…" Harry started with a groan.

"Wow, Harry, you were telling the truth when you said you didn't join the Death Eaters, huh?"

"Ron, I didn't _want_ to be his stupid _pet_—"

"Well, you're already stupid, so that's already one part of it done…"

"Now, wait a minute, that was uncalled for—"

"It was completely called for!" Ron was almost shouting now, Hermione still weeping next to him. "First you run off to him because you were _angry you didn't know anything_—"

"We're back on this again, are we?" Harry shouted, exasperated by this argument. Ron ignored him.

"And you become You-Know-Who's _pet_…What did you do all day, Harry, feed him grapes and gillywater?"

"I was actually thrown in the dungeons, if you must know!"

"For how long, Harry? How long until you were out and curled up on his lap? How long until you were _shagging him_?"

Harry shot to his feet in a second, chair toppling over, hands balling up into fists. Ron was up in the same moment, blue eyes smoldering, towering over Harry.

Small hands were on their chests, grabbing their clothes, wrinkling their shirts.

"Please," whispered Hermione miserably, tears still on her crumpled face. "Don't fight. It's what he wants… we need to stay together…"

Harry angrily removed her hand and stormed out of the kitchen, ignoring Hermione's very nearly hysterical cries for him to come back. Just as he turned into the hallway, he smacked into a large chest, knocking his glasses askew.

"Oh, Harry! Just the man I wanted to see," said Dumbledore. Harry righted his glasses on his face and immediately wished he hadn't, as he was assaulted by the clear sight of the Headmaster's bright orange robes with pink and red polka dots. "Come along, my boy." Dumbledore led him into his own room. "Have a seat, Harry," Dumbledore said, gesturing towards the unmade bed. Harry sat stiffly, eyes wide as he watched Dumbledore sit down himself.

"Sir…" Harry asked tentatively. When Dumbledore didn't say anything, he continued. "Am I…I mean, may I still go to Hogwarts, sir?"

Dumbledore took a deep breath before responding. "I've been wondering to myself if you should ever since you first disappeared, Harry. On one hand, you must finish your education if you are to have a chance at defeating Tom. However…" he paused and looked Harry directly in the eyes. "I worry about your personal wellbeing if you are to continue. You know how children, and even adults, can be."

(_I sure do._) Harry wanted to say, but he thought that Dumbledore already knew that.

"And so I considered the idea of private tutoring for you, but I believe that the professors are already quite loaded by the regular students.

(_Then I wonder what you told Snape to make him give me Occlumency lessons. Or maybe he did it willingly because he knew it'd give me a huge headache?_)

I'd do it myself, but, alas, I don't have the time either. But then, Fawkes gave me a marvelous idea." Harry stared at him. "How much do you know about your family, Harry?"

"Other than the fact that I'm the spitting image of my dad but with my mum's eyes? Nothing," Harry said dryly.

"Well, Harry, the Potters were a staggeringly wealthy old pureblooded family, though they lost most of the respect that they held when they took in young Sirius Black when he ran away. And they sunk down even further when your father married your mother, but Harry! It remains that your family is fabulously wealthy! Therefore, you could choose to _hire_ your own private tutors." Harry stared at him. Dumbledore gave him a large smile. "So it's your choice, my boy."

Harry stared at him for a few more moments. Dumbledore's smile dimmed. Harry shook his head rapidly. "Wait, so you mean that I can either go back to Hogwarts, and be completely shunned and treated like dirt by the paper-worshipping masses, or I could hire private tutors who would shun me less, but still treat me like dirt even though I'm paying them loads?"

"The wonderful thing about tutors, Harry, is that you can pick and chose them, unlike your peers or your professors at Hogwarts."

"Would I…would I have to stay here? Or go back to…_the Dursleys_?"

"I was actually thinking of you staying at Hogwarts." Harry had a mental image of himself, in Gryffindor tower being suffocated by his roommates with his own pillows. "In your own rooms, of course. And if necessary, you'd take your meals at the staff table."

Harry snorted. "Snape'll just love that," he muttered, more to himself than for Dumbledore's ears, but the Headmaster heard him anyway.

"_Professor_ Snape will be on the other end of the table, Harry."

"And…Quidditch?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Well, technically, you'd still be in Gryffindor, since you've already been Sorted. Whether or not you remain on the team will be the decision of your Captain. Though, I doubt they'd make you leave even if you had the Dark Mark, Harry. Their playing would be affected."

Harry did not know what to say.

(_Defend your team, fool! Isn't Gryffindor known for its chivalry?_)

"Do not make your decision just yet, Harry. Here," said Dumbledore, pulling an envelope out of his pocket. "I will leave this with you, and I will be back in a few days to take your decision."

Harry swallowed and nodded, pocketing the envelope. "Thank you, sir."

"It's nothing, Harry." Dumbledore rose, patted him on the shoulder, and left. Harry opened the envelope hurriedly, feeling guilty, but wanting to verify that it _really was_ a Hogwarts booklist, and _yes_, he could return to Hogwarts even though he had run off to the enemy. He swallowed heavily, and put the parchment back into its envelope, and stuck the envelope into his pocket again. He went out of his room and descended back into the kitchen. As soon as he opened the door, a bushy-haired blur flew across the room and smacked him in the chest, arms coming around him, seemingly trying to squeeze the air out of his body.

"Hermione!" said Ron and Harry at the same time.

The witch detached herself from him and hung her head. "I'm sorry. And so is Ron. _Aren't you, Ronald_?" she hissed, leveling a glare at the redhead. Ron grimaced and nodded stiffly. "It doesn't matter if you went to You-Know-Who before, all that matters is that you don't go back over again," she said, as if she were trying to convince herself of the fact. She bit on the inside of her cheek and looked up at Harry. "Are you going to Hogwarts, Harry?" she asked quietly, as if worried that he'd explode in anger.

"Well," Harry said, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up more. "Dumbledore said it was my choice."

Hermione frowned, face scrunching up. "What does he mean by that?"

"Well since everyone hates Harry for joining Voldemort, he won't exactly be safe at Hogwarts, now will he?" said Ron loudly.

Hermione sighed miserably, looking close to tears again.

"Dumbledore says I can either brave the masses or hire private tutors," said Harry, ignoring Ron completely. Hermione perked up at the mention of tutors.

"Tutors, Harry? Oh, just imagine how much more you could learn!" she said excitedly. Ron rolled his eyes behind her. "It would be so much more in-depth than in class!" she gasped suddenly, making the two boys' eyes zoom onto her. "Oh, Harry, you'll do so much better in Potions!" she gushed. This time both boys rolled her eyes.

"Maybe we should make the suggestion to Neville," Harry said dryly.

She frowned at him. "It's not Neville's fault. Snape just makes him nervous."

"So what? Snape makes me want to hurl chunks in class, but I don't botch everything up," said Ron.

"Ron, I distinctly remember your Draught of Living Death being _yellow_…"

"That wasn't my fault! Draught of Living Death is hard…"

"Well, perhaps if you concentrated less on Snape, and more on the instructions on the board—"

"I would if he'd stop stooping over the cauldrons as we're working. The giant bat's unbelievable!"

"Ron—"

"When are we going to Diagon Alley?" said Harry loudly. Both heads turned to him.

"Probably sometime next week," Hermione said, annoyed, sitting back against her chair.

"Why not tomorrow?"

"Oh Harry," she said almost crossly. "Don't you know that a guard needs to be organized? Especially…" she did a movement of her head, which Harry took to mean _after you were stupid enough to go off to You-Know-Who?_

(_Yeah yeah I get it_)

Harry flopped back in his seat. Just then, a scream tore through the air, loud and agonized. The three teens looked at each other, before bolting from their places and tearing out of the kitchen. They raced up the stairs. The sight of a convulsing body in front of the door made Harry stop in his tracks. Hermione gasped loudly, her hand coming over her mouth as the figure shuddered and shrieked.

"What the bloody hell…" Ron was saying, but Harry barely heard him. He took long steps towards the person, recognizing the rapidly color-shifting hair instantly. Kingsley was standing over her, hand gripping his wand firmly as he waved it over her hurriedly.

"What happened?" Harry demanded, eyes wide as he watched spittle dribble down the young Auror's chin from her open mouth.

"Can't say, Potter," Kingsley replied gravely, still waving his wand about. "Granger," he called, eyes not leaving Tonks's convulsing form.

"Yes?" Hermione asked, stepping forward, eyes large and alarmed.

"Get Snape. He should be in his office at Hogwarts." Hermione nodded and ran back into the kitchen. Ron and Harry were left to just watch as Kingsley's magic seemed to do nothing for his colleague. If anything, her screams were becoming louder and more desperate. Walburga Black's portrait shrieked in tandem with the young Auror, but (she was raving about half-breeds and Mudbloods) no one was paying her any attention.

"Out of the way!" came the commanding voice of Snape. Quite unusually, Ron and Harry snapped out of the way against the walls. Snape kneeled against the floor, putting a black leather satchel on the floor next to him, and took out his wand calmly. He waved it slowly over her still shuddering body, eyes narrow and lips thinned.

"It is a nerve-burning curse," he said abruptly, going for his bag and rummaging through it briskly. He took out a poisonous-looking green potion, grabbed hold of Tonks's chin and forced the liquid down her throat. "She should be taken to St. Mungo's." Tonks's movements had lessened considerably and her screams had lessened to low moans. "What caused this?"

"Well…" Kingsley started, but he trailed off as he looked at the teenagers standing behind Snape.

Snape turned, looking coldly at them. "Get out."

"This is Harry's house now!" Ron shouted, turning red. "You can't—"

If possible, Snape's look became even stonier, and with a rapid flick of his wand, the teens suddenly found themselves back in the kitchen.

"That…that…slimy GIT!" Ron bellowed, face now completely red. "Throwing us out of the room like that…when it's Harry's house!"

"Be quiet, Ron!" Hermione shushed, her ear pressed to the door. Harry followed her example and laid his ear against the door. Ron joined them at the door.

"…checked it…fell…You-Know…"

"…possible…furious…Dumble…"

Followed by silence. Then sudden footsteps on the stairs. They only had a moment to throw themselves into the chairs at the table before the door was flung open.

"The youth of today," Snape murmured, almost as if to himself. "So predictable."

"What was that all about?" Ron demanded, color not completely receded from his face.

"I don't believe that is any of your business, Weasley," Snape said silkily, withdrawing a small pouch from his pocket.

"Please, Professor," Hermione said. "Will she be alright?"

"She will live, if that's what you're asking."

"How did she get cursed?"

"Did you not hear me say it wasn't any of your business, Granger?" Snape demanded, glaring even as he stepped into the grate and threw down his Floo powder. He said his address, rather lowly, Harry thought, and disappeared with a swirl of green flames.

"Stupid, greasy git," Ron muttered.

* * *

**A/N:** Ooh... what happened to Tonks? Ooh...

I think I've got more or less an idea, but I'd like to hear what you guys think about the tutors versus Hogwarts thing. I can already see the reviews asking him to attend Hogwarts classes, just to see Harry suffer...


	11. Dark Diagon Alley

**WARNINGS:** some brief HP/GW.

* * *

Dumbledore came by the day after to take Harry's decision, his face grave and lined. It hadn't taken much thought, Harry chose to have tutors.

The headmaster nodded. "Yes, I thought you would." He nodded again, almost for himself and sat down next to Harry at the kitchen table.

"Would you like some soup, Albus? I just put the pot on the stove," said Mrs. Weasley, bustling about, preparing lunch.

"Yes, thank you, Molly," he said, smoothing down his beard.

"Professor," asked Ginny, leaning forward in her chair, eyes hopeful. "Do you have any news on Tonks?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Miss Tonks was hit by a nerve-burning curse. The healers at St. Mungo's are growing the nerves back, she should be fine. She might not be able to feel for a while, but they tell me that it should pass."

Ginny nodded in thanks and leaned back, seeming relieved.

"How did she get cursed, Professor?" Harry asked, hesitant to know. His mind's eye supplied him with images of Death Eaters cackling as she thrashed on the ground in pain.

Dumbledore seemed reluctant to share the information, and after a few moment's hesitance, he looked at Harry and spoke. "It seems that Tom had sent a letter to your Aunt's home. She contacted me immediately and I sent Tonks and Kingsley to retrieve it. Unfortunately, when she opened it, even after performing the necessary spell-checks, she was cursed."

"But I thought that the spell-checks could detect any spell with malicious intent?" said Hermione.

"Shouldn't have opened it in the first place," Ron muttered from behind his cup of tea.

"I agree, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said. Ron looked up at him, obviously surprised. "Petunia should have simply thrown it into the fire."

"Where is the letter?" Harry asked, suddenly overcome by the desire to read it.

Dumbledore chuckled to himself quietly. "Kingsley burned it."

"What? I… why?" Harry demanded, clutching the arms of his chair. Four sets of eyes looked at him, two blue, and two brown, and all confused.

"_What why_? Is that a question, Harry?" demanded Ron incredulously. Hermione gave a quick roll of her eyes, but as soon as that was finished, her eyes flickered back to focus on Harry, just as incredulously.

"Um! Did…I really say that?" asked Harry, heat suddenly rushing to his cheeks. "I meant…er…"

"Perhaps we should look back into Occlumency lessons," Dumbledore murmured, raising his eyes to the ceiling and stroking his beard in thought. The three teenagers stared at him.

Dumbledore was startled out of his reverie as a generously filled bowl of soup and a spoon floated out and set themselves in front of him. Several more bowls and spoons floated out and set themselves onto the table as well.

Harry dipped his spoon into the red liquid morosely, memories of Snape's sallow face as he was _legilimens_-ed over and over again. He didn't even taste the tomato on his tongue.

Dumbledore noticed his glum expression. "If it's the thought of Professor Snape that's troubling you, I was planning on having you taught jointly."

"By whom, Professor?" asked Harry.

The headmaster carefully spooned soup into his mouth, and swallowed before answering. "By Professor Snape and myself, of course."

"You? But…surely you don't have the time, Professor…"

"Oh, I'm not _that_ short on time, m'boy."

Harry nodded in thanks in return to his soup, spirits lifted slightly. Ron belched quietly into his soup, glanced at Dumbledore and muttered a sheepish "Excuse me", before hollering to his mother for more. Mrs. Weasley came away from the stove, the huge pot of soup hovering behind her. She frowned disapprovingly at her son, but scooped more liquid into his bowl.

* * *

A few days later saw the organization of a guard for the trip to Diagon Alley. Mr. Weasley and Mad-Eye Moody arrived a few minutes before the teenagers were scheduled to leave.

"You think I should get books?" Harry was asking Hermione. The bushy-haired witch shrugged.

"Well, it all depends on your tutors, doesn't it? Some might not even use a book. In Herbology, for example, you'd have less need for a book."

"You're so lucky," Ron grumbled. "No more greasy bats hanging over your shoulder, no more Malfoy bothering you…"

"You're right, Ron," Harry said sarcastically. "Malfoy won't be bothering me anymore, and neither will Snape. In fact, none of the Slytherins will be bothering me anymore, since I'm on Voldemort's side, huh?"

Ron nodded, then caught himself, eyes widening slightly. "Sorry, mate," he muttered.

Harry said nothing, jaw clenched.

"Ready to go?" came Mr. Weasley's voice. The redheaded man was staring at them anxiously, nervous sweat already beaded on his pasty forehead. They nodded. "Alright now, Harry, with everyone…erm, against you at the moment, I've managed to procure some Polyjuice for you."

Harry's eyes went wide. "And who am I going to go as?"

"Well, I'm not quite sure. I managed to pick some hairs off of this boy in the…what's it called again…the Pipe? You know, that sort of train…"

"The Tube?"

"Yes, I think that's it…the Tube…" he procured a flask from his robes and a small plastic bag. Shaking a few of the short, dark hairs out of the bag into the potion, he swirled it around gently, turning the liquid into a murky brown. "Here you are, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, holding out the flask.

Gingerly taking it from the redhead, Harry gave a grimace. "Cheers," he muttered to himself, and drank the potion down. Almost immediately, he felt his skin shifting as his features changed. His face thinned, his chin widened. His hair shortened and his forehead smoothed out. He became taller. His vision blurred.

He coughed slightly and swallowed, not enjoying the lingering taste. Ginny peered at him curiously. He took off his glasses and put them in his pocket.

"You should also take your Invisibility Cloak, just in case." Harry nodded, and dashed up to his room to retrieve it. He came back down quickly.

"Let's go, you lot. Constant vigilance, remember…" said Mad-Eye, limping towards the door. He pulled the door open, a hot gust of smoggy air coming through. They went down the steps and onto the sidewalk. Mad-Eye lifted his scarred arm as if hailing a taxi…

"Wait!" shouted Harry, alarmed. "We're taking the Knight Bus—"

Out of nowhere, with a loud _bang_ the purple triple-decker materialized out of nowhere and screeched to a halt in front of them.

"Harry," said Hermione almost exasperatedly. "What have you done now?"

"Well, I didn't have any money on me last time…" he said sheepishly, running a hand through his too short hair.

"So what did you do?" Ginny piped up, as the door opened up and revealed a bored Stan Shunpike. He shrieked and jumped back at the sight of a glaring Mad-Eye. Mr. Weasley pushed past him to greet Stan, who calmed considerably.

"Well, I said I'd back him back next time, but…"

"Don't worry about it mate, you'll just pay them triple next time. And he won't even recognize you this time," said Ron.

"Ron…" sighed Hermione, shaking her head and getting on the bus.

"What?" Ron demanded. "_What_?"

Ginny chuckled at him, shaking her head mockingly, and got on the bus herself. Ron turned to Harry. "_What_?"

Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Let's just go," he said finally. He boarded and carefully avoided the conductor's eyes, hurrying to where Ginny and Hermione were already sitting. But he didn't quite make it in time, the bus taking off like a bullet, throwing Harry and Ron onto the floor, Ron's chin landing squarely on Harry's spine.

"Ah!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" Ron scrambled off. An unexpected turn threw him onto a couple of armchairs…that were occupied. His profuse apologizes did nothing to stop the elderly ladies' handbags from coming down onto his head. Harry scrambled up and hauled him off of their laps, throwing him into an unoccupied armchair.

"Ron! _What's your problem_?" Hermione hissed from behind them as Ginny shrieked with unrestrained laughter next to her.

"It was a bloody accident, Hermione!" Ron hissed back, face nearly as red as his hair. "Oh shut it, you," he muttered to Ginny, who was still tittering behind her hands, equally red as her brother. Harry caught her eye and couldn't help but grin as well, sending the female Weasley into a whole new set of giggles.

For the rest of the ride, Ron clung tightly to the arms of his chair, barely even moving as Ernie threw them around in tight turns. Finally arriving at the Leaky Cauldron, he was the first person off. As the others joined him on the sidewalk, Harry noticed with some amusement that his face hadn't quite drained of its color yet. He moved towards the redhead casually.

"So Ron, tell me… would you prefer detention with Umbridge or being beat by old ladies?"

He only just missed the fist that was swung his way. Chuckling, he dashed off to rejoin Mr. Weasley, already at the brick wall that hid the entrance to Diagon Alley.

"Is everyone here?" asked the Weasley patriarch, looking behind him, counting heads. Satisfied, he pulled out his wand and started tapping on the bricks, which started to shift, turning into a gateway. "Stay together now. No one goes wandering off."

The group huddled around the Polyjuiced Harry, wands coming out of pockets and tucking into sleeves, in case they needed to be used quickly. Other people in the darkened Alley also formed tightly knit groups, hurrying about, not wasting time, avoiding other peoples' eyes.

Harry watched them in growing alarm. Their eyes darted about, never lingering, as if at any moment they expected a Death Eater to jump out from the shadows and

(_shout BOO!_)

start flinging curses around.

"This is what war does, boy," Mad-Eye commented grimly, seeing his expression. "Even the purebloods are at risk, especially coming out to such a public place."

"But Vol— I mean, You-Know-Who," he said quickly at the ex-Auror's sharp glare, "wouldn't attack _Diagon Alley_, would he?"

"They say he's going insane. But honestly, you might know him better than I do."

Harry didn't stop his eye-roll. When would everyone stop bringing that up? "But there's not many muggleborns in the World, are there? So it'd be a waste attacking Diagon Alley, since it's mostly half and purebloods here, right?"

"Even if you're from one of the old families, you can still be attacked by Death Eaters. Why do you think the Potters were attacked?"

"Because of some stupid prophecy?"

"I should have taken a different example. But families who side themselves with Dumbledore are immediate targets. Not for killing, not straight away, but to try and…_convince_ them to join the Dark Lord."

The group fell into a sullen silence, matching the rest of the Alley's occupants. One group was hurrying past them, but paused to stare at them. Harry could practically hear the cogs turning in their heads.

(_Weasleys + muggleborn Granger + Potter + Diagon Alley = Hogwarts shopping. And Potter?_)

One of them tapped the other, whispering in his ear. Mad-Eye cleared his throat loudly and shook his wand out of his sleeve, into clear view. The three strangers swallowed at the sight of the mangled auror's wand and jogged away.

Moody grumbled something about bloody people trying to be heroes under his breath and sped up. The other five hurried to keep up with him. They arrived at Gringrott's quickly. Hermione split up with them to go change her pounds into Galleons. Moody accompanied her. As they stood in line to be led to their vaults, Ginny shifted closer to the Polyjuiced Harry.

"You're tall now," she commented in an offhand way.

He gave her a look, pretending to be insulted. "I've always been tall."

"No, you were average," she corrected. "But I remember you being just as tall as me when you were eleven."

He smirked at her. "I think that's wishful thinking on your part. I'm sure I was taller than you. _So _much taller, in fact, that I intimidated you into silence whenever I was around."

She scoffed, but it was soon replaced by a smile. "_Intimidated me into silence_…"

"It's true. The Dursleys and all of Privet Drive are quite scared of me, you know. Apparently, I'm incurably criminal."

"Criminal, indeed," she said quietly, smile still on her freckled face, but his slid off. He stared at her, almost disbelievingly, before gnashing his teeth together and whipping around to face front.

"Hey," she said lowly. "You alright?" She looked up at him.

"Fine," he said shortly.

(_But I'd be so much damn better if everyone could just stop thinking about me running off to Voldemort!_)

They only had to stand in line for a few more minutes before a goblin were available to show them to their vaults. The cart ride made Harry a bit nauseous, but trip was mercifully short, though they lingered a bit at the Potter vault, the Weasleys seeming a bit dazed at the sight of all that shiny. Another stomach-churning ride back up, and they were soon able to get back with Hermione and Moody.

"We need to split up. Don't want more people making the connection," Mad-Eye muttered to Mr. Weasley, who nodded.

"I'll take my two then. Meet you in two hours or so at Fred and George's shop?"

The ex-Auror nodded and steered Harry and Hermione away from the redheads, their three bright heads disappearing into the masses.

"What first, Granger?" he asked her gruffly.

"Flourish and Blott's," was her immediate response.

So Moody led them through the Alley. As the ex-Auror approached, most groups huddled closer together, not wanting to provoke any paranoid anger over some bushy-haired girl and some shifty-eyed boy. Soon, the group of three arrived at the bookshop. Hermione immediately went off into the maze of shelves, not even taking out her booklist. Harry followed, though at a less enthusiastic pace, with Moody trailing behind him, electric blue eye whizzing about suspiciously.

Harry took out his list and got everything he needed, almost cheerfully taking down _Advanced Potion Making_. He thumbed through the book absently, imagining the year _sans_ Snape, a grin splitting his face.

He continued through the towering aisles, occasionally passing by Hermione, who was frantically whispering to herself as she browsed through titles, snatching books down and reading their summaries hastily.

"What's the rush, Hermione?" he finally asked her as she rushed past him for the umpteenth time. She gave him an incredulous look.

"I don't have any time to go through the store, Harry. How can I be sure I'm getting the best books?" she demanded, looking off at the never-ending shelves longingly.

"Isn't most of the books the same as last year?" he asked hesitantly.

She narrowed her eyes and drew herself up. "Of course they are. You can't just expect them to clean out their inventory just to buy new books every year. They don't possibly have the money!"

"Er…ok…" When her glare didn't dim in the least, he decided to make himself scarce. "I'll just go…over there…get my…er…Charms book."

"The charms books are the _other_ way," she huffed irritably as he turned to go.

"Er…right!" He darted away, hiding himself behind the second shelf. He stayed immobile for a few moments before daring to peek out and see if Hermione had gone off to other shelf. Instead, she was standing in the main aisle, watching him strangely.

"What are you doing?" she asked, an eyebrow raised.

He stared at her, eyes wide. "Who? Me?"

"Yes, you," she said in a clipped tone.

"I was just…looking at these…lovely Transfiguration books?"

She came closer, giving him a dry look. "Stop acting so suspicious, Harry, people are starting to stare."

He looked around, and yes, she was right, people were giving him wary looks. "Maybe we should leave. Are you finished?"

She sighed. "Not quite," she said morosely. "But I can come back next year."

Nodding, they went off to the register to pay for their purchases. Mad-Eye joined them in the line. "You've got everything, I hope," he said. "'Cause I ain't coming back."

"It's fine," Hermione said, putting her stack of books onto the counter for them to be priced. Harry pushed his stack next to hers.

After they had paid for their purchases, Moody steered them towards Madam Malkin's. After their new measurements had been taken and the seamstress set to work, they went to the apothecary, and the pet store to restock their supply of owl and cat treats. Mad-Eye slipped a vial of Polyjuice into Harry's hand; the hour was almost over. Once they had finished with everything, they headed towards Fred and George's shop, which was lit up much brighter than the other shops of the Alley. On one of the many windows was a large, flashing sign:

_YOU SHOULDN'T WORRY ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO_

_WHAT ABOUT U-NO-POO?_

_THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!_

Hermione's eyes went wide and Moody's blue eye was going crazy. Harry's face split into a smile, and it wasn't long before he started chortling. Soon after, Hermione joined in. Mad-Eye rolled both of his eyes.

"Come on, you two." And he grabbed them both forcefully by their arms and pulled them into the store. "Constant vigilance, remember," he muttered lowly, as they were immediately forced into an even tighter group by the sheer number of people in the store. "Any of these kids could be a Death Eater in disguise…"

"Hey, there's Ron and Ginny," said Harry suddenly, spotting the flaming orange heads in the sea of browns and blonds. They pushed through the crowd towards them, leaving the ex-Auror by himself. Already space was being created around him; no one wanted to tempt fate by accidentally setting him off.

"Ron! Ginny!" cried Hermione. At the sound of her voice, the Weasleys turned towards them.

"Fred and George have really done it this time, eh?" Ron said to Harry, looking around the brightly colored shop in wonder. Ginny was chatting excitedly to Hermione, and dragged her off deep into the store.

"We certainly have, haven't we?" came a voice from behind them. They turned in time to catch the twins' faces split into identical grins.

"You sure do," said Harry, and couldn't help grinning as well.

"Come on, Harry, we'll show you around," said one of the twins, possibly Fred, coming over and draping an arm over his shoulders. The other twin dashed ahead, pushing people out of the way.

"Look at this," the second one said, probably George, pointing at a shelf glittering with small black stones. On the shelf were miniature black sacks. "Instant darkness powder, imported directly from Peru. Excellent for an escape route after a prank," he added, grinning.

"And this!" Fred said, steering Harry over to a display of brightly colored hats. "Shield hats. You tell a buddy to jinx you, and then watch his face as it bounces right off! It was just for jokes really, but the Ministry caught word of it and ordered a bunch for their employees! So we're working on an entire range of gloves, cloaks…"

"Does it work on Unforgivables?" demanded Harry.

"Nah, too high-powered. These are only for laughs…"

For nearly half an hour, Harry was marched around the large store, seeing everything from fake wands to whoopee cushions that alternated between making farting noises and reciting corny sayings in famous people's voices.

"Love potions," Fred said, at a flamboyantly pink display near the entrance. Small bottles filled with pink liquid covered the shelves. Girls (and a few boys) were all over this section, squealing to their friends. To his surprise, Ginny and Hermione were among them.

"Ah Gin, we didn't think you'd need this stuff," said George, suddenly appearing next to them. "We heard you had someone already."

"What?" Ginny asked, looking unimpressed.

"Dean Thomas? Isn't that the guy you're dating?" George pressed. Harry glanced between them.

"That's none of your business," Ginny said, slipping away to another shelf. She peered at a cage full of pink and purple puffs. "What are these?"

"Pygmy Puffs," Fred responded immediately. "Good for the girl who doesn't want a cat or an owl."

Ginny rolled her eyes and bent down, slipping a finger in the cage and cooing when they all came and surrounded it. Harry watched her for a few moments, before around to take in the store once again. Ron was approaching them, arms laden with different colored little boxes and bottles.

"How much for this?" he demanded the twins.

"10 Galleons," said George.

"But..! I'm your brother!"

"20 Galleons, then."

Ron's cheeks flushed red. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Harry patted him on the arm, peering out the window. "Look. Isn't that Malfoy?"

The redhead turned, and joined him in peering. "Yeah, looks like. With his mum."

"Looks like he's up to no good too…" Harry muttered.

"Since when is _Malfoy_ up to any good, Harry?" Ron demanded.

Something welled up inside him, some sort of foreboding that Harry couldn't quite describe. "We should follow him," he said quietly.

"Are you mad? He'll see us in a second!"

"I've got my Cloak, remember?" said Harry, pulling the silvery material out of his pocket.

"Oh, right. I'll get Hermione." With that, the redhead pushed his way through the crowd and, a few moments later, came with the bushy-haired witch.

"What's this about, Harry?"

"Malfoy's up to something," came his short response. Hermione rolled her eyes, unimpressed.

"Since when isn't he? You don't need to always try and save everyone, Harry."

"Hermione, what if Death Eaters are going to storm the Alley, or something? I can't just stand around and do nothing! Now are you coming or not?"

She huffed irritably. "Fine. But Mad-Eye won't be very happy."

"Hermione, the man is never _happy_," said Ron, and they slipped out of the store and into one of the smaller side Alleys, that was thankfully empty. They carefully maneuvered the material over them, but even if they crouched down a bit, their feet weren't covered properly.

"This is ridiculous," Hermione muttered.

"How about a Disillusionment Charm? On each of us?" Harry said. Hermione sent him a glare.

"And I suppose that you think that I just _know_ the spell and that I'm going to cast it on us."

"Well, er, I was," said Ron confusedly.

"Hermione! Malfoy's getting away!"

"I don't know how to cast a Disillusionment Charm!" the witch shrieked.

"Fine! Let's just go!" Harry said. So they had to run across the Alley, the Cloak flapping around their ankles, and hoping that no one had noticed three pairs of feet running off without any bodies attached to them.

The Malfoys were turning into Knockturn Alley, Draco peering about suspiciously around, looking to see if they were being followed. Harry wondered to himself if there was a spell to let people see through Invisibility Cloaks, as Dumbledore seemed to be able to do.

(_at least Malfoy hasn't got one of those _mad_ eyes_)

Knockturn Alley was even darker than Diagon. The atmosphere was made even eerier by the products on display in the various store windows, filled with body parts (human and magical creature), strange funguses, and large tomes on sinister spells. Draco and his mother entered Borgin and Burke's, the same scary shop that Harry had accidently Flooed into before his second year.

"What do we do now?" whispered Ron. "We can't go in there."

"Window," whispered Hermione, but the only one that had enough room to see through had a large spider on display.

Ron gave a little groan and shifted away from that side of the window. Harry stared fixedly at Draco, who was walking around the store with a nonchalant air, but his eyes were bright with hidden alertness and determination. His platinum hair glowed in the dim candlelight. He paused at a few books, but did not touch them. He lifted his head suddenly, turning to face his mother, who was being led deeper into the store, and moved to follow her. Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved to the other windows hurriedly to try and see what the Malfoys were doing. Finally they reached a window just behind Mrs. Malfoy, who was conversing with Borgin while Draco examined a tall wooden structure. After a few moments, he went around it and disappeared from view. Narcissa continued talking with the shopkeeper, shooting little glances at her son.

"This is boring," Ron whispered after a few moments.

"We can go back to the spider window if you like," Harry said, eyes flickering between Mrs. Malfoy and where Draco had disappeared.

"No, it's alright…"

Mrs. Malfoy finally broke away from Borgin and joined her son behind the wooden object. Harry groaned in frustration, but it only took a few seconds for them to both reappear. They nodded to Borgin and went out of the room. The trio raced back towards the spider window (Ron carefully staying as far away as possible) and watched them exit the store. Draco paused, frowning, and looked down the Alley. Harry hastily tugged at the Cloak, covering them in the front, but exposing more of their legs in the back. Malfoy's frown deepened as something rippled near one of the store's windows, and approached cautiously, drawing his wand. Harry elbowed the other two furiously, trying to get them to back away, Malfoy was getting closer…

"Draco," Mrs. Malfoy called. The blond boy stopped, peering at the ground. Closing his eyes briefly and giving a small sigh, he opened them back up, perhaps expecting to see something different. He started walking backwards back to his mother, still staring at the spot where the trio's feet had been. Finally giving a brief shake of his head, he turned around and jogged to where Narcissa was.

Hermione let out an audible sigh of relief. "Let's go."

"Yeah, let's," agreed Ron. He tugged the Cloak back over them evenly, and they started walking back to the joke shop. As soon as they stepped into the busy shop, the Cloak was whipped off of them by an irate ex-Auror.

"Where have you idiots been?" he growled, blue eye fixed on their guilty faces. "Do you _want_ to be attacked by Death Eaters? You especially," here he gave a sharp jab to Harry, "need to be more careful."

At this point, Mr. Weasley had seen his son's face and came over, and started berating them as well. "It's too dangerous for you three to be going off by yourselves…"

After their lectures had been finished, they were dragged back to the Leaky Cauldron. They got some sandwiches for lunch and got on the Knight Bus after Moody had summoned it. Ron made sure to sit down quickly this time. By the time they had gotten back to Headquarters, Harry was feeling extremely nauseous.

"We should have eaten afterwards," he muttered to Ginny, who had come off after him. She nodded in agreement, looking pale.

"Where did you guys go?" she asked quietly, as her father and Moody unlocked the front door of Number 12.

"Knockturn Alley," he said, just as quietly, as they entered the house.

"You really shouldn't have, you know," she responded matter-of-factly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, I've heard it three times already, thank you."

"Three times?"

"Your dad, Moody, Hermione…"

"Ah, good ol' Hermione… Haven't you learned to listen to her by now?"

"I do listen," Harry protested sulkily. "I just…forget sometimes."

Ginny just rolled her eyes and smiled knowingly. "Whatever, Harry."

As she went upstairs to put her purchases away, Harry couldn't help but smile at her back.

* * *

**A/N:** Poor idiot scarhead, going for _Ginny Weasley_ (but if you are a fan of that pairing, may I recommend my other story, _Invisible For a Day_?)

And yes, I know, I told my reviewers I was going to update last Saturday. Problem was, I hadn't actually finished the minimum of 2000 words that I impose on myself, and on wednesday when I actually did finish that much, it wasn't a good place to finish it. On Friday I was playing video games, sorry. On Saturday I took the wrong bus and ended up in the wrong town. Wahaha.

Don't forget to review! ^_^


	12. Cold Blur's Bed

WARNINGS:

HP/GW, SLASH LV/HP

* * *

Harry was dreaming.

Darkness swirled around him, like a heavy cloak. He could feel the blindfold against his face, rubbing against his nose where his glasses should have been resting. He twisted his arms about, trying to get up, only to feel silken scarves bound around his wrists, not allowing for much movement. His feet however were free, as he moved them around, the soft sheets rubbed against his bare skin.

As something cold touched his belly gently, he stilled immediately. It trailed upwards first, to rub at a nipple gently, before continuing its journey upwards, drifting over his chin before tracing around his lips.

"I miss you, pet," came a soft, strangely sorrowful voice from somewhere above him.

The finger pressed against his lips and, powerless against the force of the dream, Harry parted his lips and licked the finger softly.

A sad sigh was heard, echoing around in his head. More fingers joined the single one on his face and, with surprising gentleness, slipped the blindfold from his eyes. Harry opened his eyes slowly, blurs the only thing he could see. Nevertheless, one blur stood out from the others. This one was pale white,

(_like paper_) the voice in Harry's head whispered.

and as this Blur approached, its glowing red eyes came into focus. Its mouth curved downwards and opened.

"Come back to me, pet," the Blur said lowly, voice so full of sadness that Harry was tempted to take this paper white blur and protect it with everything he had.

The Blur leaned down and pressed their mouths together almost tenderly. But as it did this, the room started to blur even more. A brief flash of white, greyer than the Blur, flared in his mind's eye. The pressure against his lips faded away and a familiar flowery scent filled his nose. His mind's eye saw red, no, orange swirling around him, a flash of brown appearing now and then. The face slowly came into focus, smiling at him. Somewhere, in the back of his head, he could hear the Blur shrieking in rage.

Ginny had now formed in front of him, smiling serenely. She circled around him, seemingly floating, before reappearing in front of him. She came closer, the Blur becoming quieter with every inch. Finally, their mouths met.

The not quite tenderness of the Blur could not compare to Ginny's lips. As soon as their mouths connected, a spark lit up in Harry's chest, and jolted though his body, lighting up his every nerve, not in a Cruciatus kind of way, but in a tingling, extraordinarily pleasant way. Small, warm hands slid up his chest sensually, leaving a deliciously cool trail on his bare skin. His hands, moving of their own accord, slid onto her hips, up to her waist, and squeezed. Harry could suppress a quiet moan as he felt her soft, _warm_ flesh, and felt Ginny smile against him.

He wasn't sure for how long they stood there

(_or are we laying down?_)

but he did not mind at all. The only thing he could do was _feel_. Ginny surrounded him, her hands gripping his hair, his own hands tangled in hers, their lips attached, kissing fiercely.

Out of nowhere, Ginny disappeared. The Blur had reappeared, though no longer blurred, and very clearly focused. Its paper white face was contorted viciously with an unmistakable rage. Cold hands were on him now. They scrabbled at his skin like termites, claw-like nails scratching into him.

"You think of her?" Voldemort snarled, and those claws dug into his ribs. Harry gasped and tried to grab the cold hands, but found them bound once again. This seemed to anger the Dark Lord, who seized Harry by the throat.

"I will kill her," he swore, grip around Harry's neck tightening. "I will kill her in front of you. But first, whoever wants her will have her." Harry's eyes widened. "Then Bellatrix will torture her however she likes, and I will give her to Severus to break her mind so she won't even be able to scream for you."

Harry's face was rapidly turning blue. Dark splotches danced across his vision. His wrists shuddered in their bindings. And just as quickly as he had grabbed him, Voldemort let go. Harry immediately turned his head and filled his lungs, coughing fitfully. By the time he had regained his breath, Voldemort had moved near the fireplace, fists clenched around his yew wand. Harry struggled to see him properly, having to keep lifting his head from the pillow.

"Have I not tried?" Voldemort murmured, a hard edge to his voice. "Have I not been gentle with you?"

Harry swallowed. He stayed silent, eyes not leaving the Dark Lord's back.

"Have I not protected you from my followers?"

"Don't they attack me on your orders?"Harry retorted, gritting his teeth. Voldemort whirled around, ruby eyes glowing lit up by the orange flames behind him.

"They do," he snapped. "But they hate you as much as I do. Perhaps more…" He turned back with difficulty towards the dancing flames, body still taut with anger.

"If you hate me so much, why do you keep bringing me back here?" Harry demanded shortly, head flopping back against the plush pillow.

Voldemort was silent for a long moment, unmoving, hands clasped simply behind his back. "I'm afraid…I regret giving you your wand without being compensated properly." He tilted his head ever so slowly to the right. "And now, I must demand suitable repayment."

Harry stilled at these words, a deep chill creeping into his bones. "What do you mean?" his voice shook far more than he would have liked.

"Why do you think you are naked, dear?" came his simple response.

Cold seized his body. Harry tugged frantically at his wrist bonds, nearly dislocating his shoulders with each hysterical tug. He thrashed about, trying in vain to loosen them. Voldemort hadn't moved from his place near the fire. He only stared into the flames as Harry panted with fright behind him. Ever so slowly, Voldemort turned around. Harry stilled immediately, eyes wide. Voldemort gave a small, utterly cruel smile, and, deliberately slowly, took a step forward. Harry's breathing quickened. Another step, then another. Harry's nails dug into his palms. His chest shuddered with every breath he took.

Voldemort was standing next to the bed much too soon. He sat down slowly, smile never leaving his face. Ice held Harry's limbs in place. A paper-white finger traced up and down his belly again, and if possible, it felt even colder than the last time.

"No…I don't…" Harry tried fruitlessly to squirm away from him, but with a simple wave of his hand, Voldemort had immobilized him completely.

"No..! No..!"

Voldemort placed a hand gently on his chest, before leaning down and pressed his cold mouth to his pet's. The hand slid down slowly, teasingly, down his chest, going over his stomach, almost reaching its destination…

Harry opened his eyes with a scream, throat raw, voice hoarse, hair wet and clinging to his clammy skin. People were squabbling all around him. He stared at them all with wide eyes. Hermione was shouting at Ron, who had an empty pitcher in his hand. Dumbledore was whispering to Snape, whose dark eyes were boring into Harry's. Even Mundungus was there.

Harry gave a low moan and clamped his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. Immediately Voldemort's image appeared in front of his closed eyelids.

(_Get out of my head! I DON'T WANT YOU IN HERE!_)

His nails dug into his scalp. His teeth cut into his bottom lip. Tears trickled out of his unseeing eyes.

(_STOP IT! _GO AWAY!)

The words were pushed from his throat. Suddenly the noise in the room stopped. The dead silence was only broken by Harry's quiet wails.

"I _told _you, Albus," came Snape's quiet hiss, looking stern even in his dressing gown. "Get these people out of here!"

Dumbledore swallowed hard, eyes not leaving Harry's trembling form. "Everyone, please leave Mr. Potter."

"Professor…" started Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger, you and Mr. and Miss Weasley may stay."

The rest of them filtered out slowly, until only Dumbledore and Snape were remaining with the four teenagers. They stood quietly for a long moment, Harry sobbing quietly and Snape and Dumbledore still murmuring to each other.

"Harry…" whispered Hermione. "You need to breathe, Harry." She moved to start rubbing his back, but he flinched away violently and clenched harder at his scalp. She moved away quickly, twisting her hands around and chewing her lip, looking worried.

"Severus..." Dumbledore pleaded from near the door.

Snape looked crosser than usual. "It will only get worse," he snarled, before crossing the room in three long strides. He plunged a hand in his ever-present satchel, took out a pale blue bottle and thrust it out towards Hermione. "Calming Draught. Make him drink it."

"I…I…"

"Now."

Hermione wordlessly moved towards Harry again. "Harry? Professor Snape wants you to take this Calming Draught." He only moaned in response and tried to turn away from him.

"Perhaps Weasley should refill the pitcher," Snape suggested silkily. Ron gave him a dirty look, which he ignored completely.

Dumbledore walked towards Harry and knelt down next to the bed. "Harry," he said quietly, but clearly. "Look at me, please." Even in Harry's hysterical state, Dumbledore's compelling tone worked perfectly. Dull, wet emerald eyes turned to the sad blue ones. "Take a deep breath." He held out his hand towards Hermione, who placed the bottle in his wrinkled hand. "Another," Dumbledore commanded, as he attempted to uncork the bottle. Harry stared at the Headmaster's blackened left hand, which he had not noticed before.

"Professor? Shall I..?" started Hermione, taking a step forward.

"No, its fine, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, and with a gentle flick of his wand, the cork disappeared.

"Do you need help, Harry?" he asked gently, holding the flask out to him. With a shaky hand, Harry took it from him wordlessly, and brought it to his mouth. He paused for a moment, before tilting his head back and swallowing the liquid in one gulp. Immediately, most of the tension in his body flowed out. He couldn't feel his muscles anymore. He slumped bonelessly against the wall.

"You gave him too much!" Hermione exclaimed in horror, staring at Harry's drooping form.

"I will remind you, Granger, that it is _I_ the Potions Master here," Snape replied coolly.

"But he shouldn't be like that!"

"That's fine, Granger. The next time the Headmaster rouses me at four in the morning because Potter's having a nightmare, I will simply tell him that you are more qualified for restoring his health." Hermione blushed and looked at her slippers.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore had moved away from the bed, and had sunken down tiredly into a chair near the door. Ginny took his place next to the bed, and carefully maneuvered Harry so he was lying back down. He didn't even react. His eyes roamed about unfocusedly. His mouth hung open slightly, drool trickling out. She sighed and mopped it up with his duvet.

"Oh Harry," she murmured sadly.

"You should go back to bed, children," said Dumbledore.

"But…" started Hermione.

"Let's go, Hermione," interrupted Ron. She looked at him in surprise, but nodded. He guided her towards the door, hand on the small of her back. "Ginny," he called softly. "Come on." She nodded, and brushed Harry's hair out of his face before pushing herself up and out of the room. Only the two men remained with the oblivious teenager.

"Is there no way of preventing it, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, rubbing his face tiredly.

"Preventing what? Be more specific, Albus," Snape snapped.

"The visions…"

"The Dark Lord makes the choice of sending Potter the visions. So you may either kill the Dark Lord, or kill Potter."

"Severus, please…"

"If Potter were dead, he would have no more visions."

"We both know that you don't want him dead."

"The boy's a nuisance. Always getting into trouble, even more so than his filthy—"

"I know you're tired, Severus. We should be getting back to bed as well."

Snape gave a tiny snort, before turning around and wrenching the door open, marching out. Dumbledore rose from his chair slowly. He crossed the room and pulled the duvet over Harry, who had finally closed his eyes, the mixed Dreamless Sleep having taken effect.

"Sleep well, child."

* * *

**A/N:** A bit of slashy filler for you people. And you didn't actually think I'd let Voldemort rape Harry, did you? Naw...

Don't forget to review! Even if it's to say this chapter was pathetic, and don't waste our time and bytes with fillers, biatch!

But...um...don't actually say that...


	13. Hell's Burning Kitchen

**WARNINGS:** some parts could be considered torture, I suppose.

* * *

Harry jerked from sleep abruptly. Eyes bleary, he swallowed hard and laid still for a moment, before fumbling around on the nightstand for his glasses. A small crash informed him that he had knocked them over. He groaned quietly, and leaned over stiffly, half out of bed, searching for them. His hand brushed by something metal, and he seized them eagerly. He sat up in bed slowly, and slid them on his face. He sat there for a while, feeling strange. A strange, hollow ache throbbed in his belly. His muscles prickled laxly.

He sighed, and tried to ignore these strange tingling, telling himself that it was pre-Hogwarts jitters. He threw the duvet off of himself, and stood on shaky legs. He took off his pajamas and slipped into a t-shirt and jeans. He opened the door wearily and went out. The smell of bacon hit his nose immediately. Awakened properly now, he quickened his pace and descended the staircase, through the hall, and down into the kitchen. He joined Ron and Hermione at the table. They glanced at him and were silent, looking away almost guiltily. Before he could say anything, Mrs. Weasley set a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him.

"Here you are, Harry dear," she said softly, giving him a sad glance before returning to her stove. He frowned at her back briefly before turning his attention to his breakfast.

(_What happened now?_)

He dejectedly pushed his eggs around the plate, before cutting a small bite and eating it, all the while glancing over at his friends. Footsteps sounded against the wooden stairs. Ginny came down, her brown eyes sleepily bright, and hair slightly mussed. Harry stared at her for a moment. She gave him a tiny smile before moving past him to sit next to Hermione. Even her arrival didn't start off any conversation. Ron shoveled down his food without much thought, and Hermione took calm, slow bites of her meal. Both sets of eyes were glued to their plates.

Harry swallowed the mush in his mouth and prepared another one.

"You guys ready to go back to Hogwarts?" he asked them casually, forking eggs into his mouth.

"Sure," said Hermione. "I have to start preparing my NEWTs."

"Isn't that next year?" asked Ginny.

"It's never too early to start!" said Hermione matter-of-factly.

"What about you, Ron?" Harry asked. The redhead gave a shrug, and swallowed his mouthful.

"Dunno. It'll be, well, you know…" he made gestures in the air with his fork. "But we'll be OK, right?"

"I guess," mumbled Harry.

"I'm not too keen," Ginny piped up. "With the OWLs and all."

"OWLs are very important!" Hermione admonished. "In fact, you probably should have started reviewing last year!"

"Hermione, no one's going to start reviewing for their OWLs in their fourth year," Ron blurted, sounding scandalized.

"I did!" she snapped. Then she frowned. "And I _still_ got an E in Defense…"

"Maybe you should have started in third year…" muttered Ron to his toast.

"What was that?" Hermione asked.

"Hmm? I didn't say anything, Hermione…"

She gave him a small glare before polishing off her breakfast neatly. "Excuse me," she said tersely, getting up. "I have to do some last minute packing." She crossed the room quickly and ascended the stairs, their eyes following her until she turned the bend.

"Ron!" called Mrs. Weasley. "And do you have everything packed?"

He mumbled something to his food.

"Go do it then."

He grumbled something about still having another day to do it, before shoveling down as much food as he could, and pushing himself away from the table. He swallowed it all with a little difficulty, before leaving Ginny and Harry alone with Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny pushed around her eggs, before licking her lips and whispering to Harry, "Are you alright?"

"'Course I am," he whispered back. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She took her time in answering, coolly spreading strawberry jam on her toast and taking a bite. She chewed slowly and swallowed before answering. "I'm surprised you don't remember. You had a nightmare last night." She paused, and her voice dipped lower, "about You-Know-Who."

At first, Harry did nothing. He stared at her, before blinking and looking away. "I don't remember," he said honestly.

She shrugged. "Maybe it was that potion Snape gave you. He said it was just a Calming Draught, but…" she shrugged again, "who knows?" She returned to her breakfast, but a slight tension had wedged between them. Harry stared off unfocusedly at the opposite wall, eyes dulled, lost in his memories. Ginny sent him small, worried glances, but he didn't seem to notice.

* * *

Harry found himself sitting on a hard, familiar bed, in a dark room, no one else in sight. The heavy curtains had been spelled closed, only allowing a sliver of light into the room. Harry held his breath, and kept very still, a chilled foreboding creeping under his skin, knowing something was not as it should have been. Suddenly, he gave a tiny gasp, and his lips curled into a pleased smile. His mouth moved of its own accord. The voice that came out was not his own.

"_I know you are there…_"

(Harry's only response was a slow, painfully drawn-out gasp. _Can he hear me if I'm in his head?_)

"_Are you ready to return to Hogwarts, pet?_"

Harry didn't respond. He didn't know how, nor did he want to. He fought hard, and threw himself backwards. Orange dominated his vision. The back of his head throbbed. His left eye couldn't focus properly on the shapes above him. Through his right eye, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley hovered above him, faces twisted in worry.

(_Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry Harry_) the call resounded in his head, not Voldemort's voice, but not quite Ginny's either. Someone else was shouting, other, unknown faces swirled around him. Words muddled in his head, he heard them one moment, and the next they were incomprehensible.

(_Harry Harry HARRY HARRY_)

(_Mr. Potter Mr. Potter!_)

He squeezed his eyes shut and lifted his arms to block the noise out. Soft, hot hands clamped around his wrists.

(_Harry!_)

(_He must be taken to St. Mungo's!_)

(_Oh pet, you shouldn't have _pulled out_ so quickly…_)

At the sound of this last voice, Harry's eyes flew open. Time seemed to slow. Everyone's eyes were fixed on him. Harry wrenched himself free, and with some difficulty, pushed himself up. He gripped a chair firmly as the room tilted around him, still half in focus.

(_Get him some water…_)

Footsteps over to the sink. Each step made him feel as if someone had taken a hammer to his head. The sink was turned on. Harsh, grating static buzzed in his ears and jumbled his thoughts around. More footsteps, more hammering. A solid explosion, like an old-fashioned cannon, as a glass was placed on the tabletop.

"Harry dear…" started Mrs. Weasley, but someone silenced her.

His knuckles were turning white on the chair. His breath came in and out in short, wheezing gasps. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He felt ill.

(_St. Mungo's Mungo's Mungo's Mungo's?_)

"Harry?" came a gentle, and _quiet_, welcomed whisper that felt like feathers brushing against his ears.

"Just a second," he mumbled, his own voice sounding to his pounding head as if some fool had taken to throwing rocks against the wall.

The seconds passed. The world slowly righted itself. A pale hand took hold of his glasses and righted them on his nose. His breath slowed and evened out. His grip slackened and his hand fell off the chair. He reached for the glass of water and half spilled it over, before he brought it to his lips. Cool water invaded his mouth and Voldemort smiled in his mind's eye. Harry spat out the drink out hastily, all over some man's face.

"Sorry," he muttered, and put the glass down. The man just frowned at him and wiped his face with his sleeve.

Someone cleared their throat from behind him. Harry sighed quietly and turned around stiffly.

"Mr. Potter," Rufus Scrimgeour said curtly, hands clasped coolly behind his back.

"Minister," he muttered back, slumping into the chair.

"Would you mind explaining what just happened?"

Harry massaged his temples. "It was nothing," he finally said.

(_Honestly I didn't even know I could go into Voldemort's mind if I wanted to. It's always him that pulls me in_)

"It didn't seem like _nothing_," responded the Minister, staring at him. Harry stared back. Everyone was still.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter," said Scrimgeour, moving forward, "and I'll only ask this once. Are you, or are you not, in communication with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

This time Harry did roll his eyes. "Of course I am," he snapped. "I've been in communication with him since I was a year old!"

The Aurors fidgeted, eyes flickering back and forth between the two. Harry noticed that Shacklebolt was present, and was one of the only ones that didn't seem nervous. Scrimgeour was not amused. He leaned forward. "Are you in league with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"No!" was Harry's immediate reply.

"Yet you handed yourself willingly to his followers?" Scrimgeour pressed.

Harry's hands clenched into fists. "Yes," he admitted shortly.

The Minister for Magic straightened up, looking pained. "Very well, Mr. Potter. Since have admitted freely to that, you now have two choices. One, you can publicly apologize and declare your support of the Ministry, or you can either come to the Ministry and stand trial for treason against the British Wizarding World." Here the Aurors all came closer and pulled out their wands

"Well that's not a very hard choice is it?" Ron said loudly. Hermione gave a brief roll of her eyes before returning to glaring at Scrimgeour's head. He ignored her and stared pointedly at Harry.

"I'll apologize," Harry said flatly. Scrimgeour nodded, contented.

"Excellent." He held out his hand and one of the Aurors pulled out a scroll of parchment from his robes pocket, and gave it to him. Scrimgeour presented it to Harry. "A statement has already been drafted for you."

Harry eyed it warily, before accepting it and opening it up to read.

(_First and foremost I would like to express my contrition for abandoning the people, no matter how briefly, to the grasps of the self-proclaimed Dark Lord. In my brief lapse of faith and after seeing the treatment of those who call themselves Death Eaters by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I realized that my judgment was erroneous. These events only strengthened my belief that Britain must never fall into this madman's hands. Alongside the Ministry and our elite Aurors, I vow from this day forth to stand against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his forces of tyranny and cruelty…_)

He bit down on his lip. Looking over, he motioned for Hermione to come closer. "What does it mean, _contrition_?" he whispered. Hermione gave a huff before snatching the scroll from his hands and reading it herself.

"This statement is unacceptable," she said, thrusting it back towards the Minister. "People won't believe that he's being sincere! Not with a statement like this! He doesn't even understand half the words!" she added exasperatedly.

"That is…completely not true," Harry exclaimed.

Scrimgeour looked disbelieving at first, before tucking the scroll into the crook of his arm casually. "Very well. That isn't a problem; another statement will be drafted up immediately. However, you will have to come with us, to reassure the people."

"Reassure the people?" Mrs. Weasley repeated, puzzled.

Scrimgeour nodded. "You might eventually have to pass a few hours in a holding cell, but—"

"_A holding cell_?" shouted Mrs. Weasley, now irate. Scrimgeour's eyes immediately zoomed onto her face. "You can't do that! The boy's still underage! How would that reassure people?"

"There are plenty of citizens that would prefer to see Potter arrested, madam," Scrimgeour said, almost sternly. "I honestly would prefer that he stand next to the Ministry to combat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"And then you'll throw me into a holding cell?" Harry demanded.

Scrimgeour looked at him for a moment. "Of course not," he finally replied, not reassuring Harry in the slightest. They stared at each other for a long while. "Well, Mr. Potter? Will you come quietly?"

(_Holding cell… what is he playing at?_)

There were sudden cries of outrage as the Aurors moved to surround Harry, their faces grim and their wands steady. Kingsley was the first one, his face set, his dark eyes flashing in apology.

"_Well_, Potter?"

Harry's eyes swept over the fifteen-some Aurors in the kitchen. "Yes, it's fine."

Dawlish came forth and forced Harry to turn around, and said a spell to bind his wrists together.

"Mum...a holding cell! Mum! They can't be serious!" Ginny was half-shouting to her mother.

"Ginny, I…" she trailed off helplessly. They all watched with wide desperate eyes as Harry was led to the door.

Ron drew his wand slowly, but Hermione stopped him. "He'll be in even more trouble if you try to attack them."

Harry tried not to look back at them desperately. Instead he clenched his hands into fists and resolved to walk out of there unresistingly. He had no wish to have a repeat experience of his fifth year. Especially not Umbridge.

Unfortunately, someone else had a different idea.

It started with his scar burning. Really _burning_, as if someone had decided to pour boiling acid all over his forehead. He shouted out in pain, and started to struggle. The Aurors tried to grab him and hold him still.

"Potter!" he heard Kingsley shouting indistinctly. "Snap out of it, Potter!"

Quickly, the burning spread to the rest of his body. He thrashed about.

"Bind him! Quickly!" shouted Scrimgeour.

Someone took out a wand to his left. Harry's head moved of its own accord, and connected solidly with the woman's hand, snapping the wand in two. She gasped loudly and nearly fell over in her haste to get away from him.

"_Bind him I say_!"

More wands were taken out. Harry suddenly stilled, the burning not at all leaving his body, but it was as if something had taken a hold of his body and now was—

(_No no no no no no no!_)

A gleefully sadistic laugh was heard in his mind, as a sudden wave of magic was released from Harry's body. The Aurors were pushed away from him, falling on the floor and on top of each other with various grunts and cries. Scrimgeour was leaning against the wall, having been struck by the wave as well.

"What is this?" he demanded, eyes wide and focused on Harry's trembling form.

He didn't answer. He didn't even look at Scrimgeour. His hand plunged into his pocket, withdrawing his wand like a sword, and ignoring Hermione's cry of "_NO_!", he took aim at the closest floored Auror.

(_Avada Kedavra!_)

(_NO!_)

"_Incarcerous!_" he shouted instead, and as thick ropes materialized from the tip of his wand, he was forced to duck to avoid four Stunners, most of the Aurors already back on their feet. He rolled under the table and reemerged on the other side, sending another Disarming Spell at one Auror that had come around the table. Ginny and Ron had gotten back up and were fighting as well, the younger Weasley had just cast one of her famous Bat-Bogey hexes. Hermione and Mrs. Weasley were watching the fight with wide, panicked eyes, torn between helping Harry and the others or assaulting Aurors.

Ron was hit by an _Incarcerous_, and Mrs. Weasley gave a shriek. The man who had attacked him looked up at her in alarm, just in time to be hit by a shining blue spell.

"NO! STOP IT!_ STOP IT_!" Hermione shrieked, one hand grasping at her hair, and the other waving her wand about. One Auror sent a spell at her, only missing her by an inch. She gave a final hesitant look, before pursing her lips. She raised her wand, and let out a slow breath.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" she shouted. The spell hit the Auror that had tried to attack her from before in the chest. Immediately his arms snapped to his sides, his legs stuck together, and he fell to the floor as stiff as a plank. She continued like this, casting Full Body-Binds on the Aurors, until she was finally hit by a Stunner. Her eyes went suddenly wide, before she crumpled to the floor.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, abandoning the Auror he was dueling to run over and drag her into a corner, out of harm's way. A Stunner hit him square in the back, and he gave a groan before falling over her.

Harry, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley were the only ones fighting now. The Aurors outnumbered them easily three to one. Dazzling lights illuminated the kitchen. Sweat poured in Harry's eyes, mixing with his tears and making them sting. The burning had gotten worse. It seemed to be eating away at his muscles, with every movement he made his body ached. Harry finished off an Auror and glanced over at Ginny as he started dueling another. Her face was set in a determined scowl as she sent off all sorts of spells. She was so busy trying to duel a female Auror that she didn't see Dawlish sneak up behind her, wand at the ready.

"Ginny!" he shouted. The pain flared terribly, and he cried out as he was in the middle of sending a Stunner towards Dawlish. His Stunner missed Dawlish by a good foot and hit… Mrs. Weasley instead.

(_Oops_) said a mind-voice that was distinctly not his, and distinctly not apologetic.

Something hit his stomach and suddenly with a _whoosh _he was flying through the air. The room flew past him. His eyes widened. His back hit the stone wall, his head smacked against a wooden shelf that had fancy porcelain dishes with the Black crest on them. He fell to his knees, before collapsing onto the floor as the plates smashed around him. China dug into his sides, the stone floor dug into his belly. His arms attempted to push himself up as two sets of polished shoes stepped in front of him.

"You're under arrest, Mr. Potter," came the Minister's angry voice.

"Sorry, Potter," came Kingsley's deeper, more regretful tone. Harry's head was turned in time to see the tall black man aim his wand at him. As the Stunner's effects took over his body, he felt Voldemort's presence abandon him, leaving his muscles lax and sore and prickling, and leaving him, above all, completely furious.

* * *

**A/N:** Whew! It's been...ages, hasn't it? I do hope the chapter was satisfactory enough to make up for the lost time. If it makes you people feel better, I'm already working on the next chapter. I've got 141 words! Hahaha!

Don't forget to review! :)


	14. White Holding Cell

**WARNINGS:** ummm, I don't think there are any really... but I should tell you that I have no idea about legal systems whatsoever, so if what follows is completely irrealistic, I'd appreciate if you'd point things out. (And I haven't got my OotP with me either so...)

* * *

Harry was dreaming.

He scowled and stubbornly looked away when he saw Voldemort in front of him. This was the last place he wanted to be right now.

(_When they haul you off to Azkaban, you'll be singing a different tune_)

The Dark Lord sat down next to him on the bed, with a smile as always. "You must forgive me, my pet," Voldemort crooned, petting his hair. "I did not think that our…" he paused, before his voice dipped, "_joining_ would have pained you so much."

Harry irritably slapped his hand away and tried to get up, but he was quickly yanked back down, and pulled against Voldemort's side. The hand in his hair continued its movements, then stilled after a moment too long of silence.

"_Pet_, I do not like it when you don't pay attention to me," Voldemort warned.

"You got me _arrested_," Harry hissed, still refusing to look at him. "And in the process you torture me _and_ you attack Mrs. Weasley! And don't play dumb either, you tried to possess me just earlier this summer, or have you forgotten? Just after Dumbledore beat you, remember?" he added, sending a false smile his way.

"Dumbledore did not beat me," replied Voldemort coolly, but his nails were digging into Harry's scalp now. "I simply showed him mercy, for old men cannot be pushed too hard. The old fool might have keeled over from a heart attack."

"Which wouldn't have made you happy at all," Harry said sarcastically.

Voldemort did not reply. His hand did not leave Harry's unruly locks. Another cold hand trailed up and down his neck, before rising to his chin. Harry's head was forcefully tilted backwards. They stared at each other for a moment, Harry glaring with hate and Voldemort simply looking, until Voldemort leaned down and…

Harry gave him a hard _SLAP_!

Voldemort, obviously not expecting such a reaction, recoiled holding his cheek. Harry watched him neutrally, eyes shining in triumph. The Dark Lord stared at him in disbelief, hand still on his reddening cheek, and he started _laughing_ of all things.

(_Dumbledore did say he was insane…_)

Harry sighed and closed his eyes, preparing to throw himself backwards, being interrogated by Aurors would be better than sitting here with this madman—

"_Desist!_" came a harsh hiss, almost in Parseltongue. A hand clamped down on his bicep. "You will not leave until I allow you to."

"Yes, because the last few times, that's exactly what happened."

"This is my mind, pet," the Dark Lord reminded him. "I could trap you here forever if I wanted to."

"You wouldn't do that. It would undermine your authority if your precious Death Eaters caught you petting air, now wouldn't it?"

A dangerous smile was his response. "That's nothing a good _Crucio_ wouldn't fix."

"Torture," muttered Harry. "Your answer to everything."

"That's because it works. Here, let me show you…" Voldemort took out his yew wand and pointed it at Harry firmly. "_Crucio_."

Harry threw himself backwards.

But instead of finding himself in a Ministry holding cell, or anything of the like, he found himself against a firm, dark wall. He wasn't quite in Voldemort's room at Malfoy Manor, instead he could see it the four-poster bed in the distance.

He swallowed hard. Being in Voldemort's mind was dangerous. Even more so now that he was being trapped in here by Occlumency.

"Do you know I sent you a letter a few days ago?"

Harry whirled around. Voldemort was standing next to him, twirling his wand with his fingers.

"What..? How did you get..? Oh, right…" he muttered sheepishly.

"My letter?" Voldemort pressed. "It's very rude on your part to not reply."

"It was burned."

"Why?" demanded Voldemort, irate.

"You attached a nerve-burning curse to it," said Harry, as if talking to a small child.

Voldemort brushed his comment off. "That would have only been activated if someone other than you opened it."

"You can't honestly think that Dumbledore would have just handed over your letter for me to read it without checking if it would be harmful!"

"I wouldn't attach a spell destined to hurt you to a letter, pet. I would want to be there to watch you suffer," he said, as if it were obvious.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course you would." He turned back to the Occlumency wall and pressed against it. He hit his fists against it a few times. It sounded hollow.

"I assure you, I am quite skilled at Occlumency."

"That's wonderful. I want to leave now."

"Why? All that remains for you outside is a Ministry trial…possibly Azkaban…"

"At least I wouldn't see you there," Harry muttered, but Voldemort heard him anyway.

"Of course you would, pet. I'm sure that you're aware that Dementors make all those in their presence relive their worst memories."

Harry looked at him sharply, then gave a humorless laugh. "You think you're my worst memory? Don't flatter yourself."

"Oh? Then what is?" the Dark Lord sounded almost put off. "Surely I have traumatized you enough times to have earned that place?"

"It's my mother's screams as you murder her," Harry said darkly, glaring at the wall.

Voldemort looked delighted. "I _am_ your worst memory, then!"

"Didn't you just hear me say that it was my mother's screams?"

"Yes, but I also heard you say that she screamed _as I murdered her_, thus I am your worst memory."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am. You said it yourself."

"No, I said it was my mother."

"No, you said it was me killing her."

"No, you're—" Harry suddenly stopped. "I..! How _old_ are you?"

"Oh pet, I'm not telling you that," said Voldemort with a chuckle, and he moved closer to embrace Harry, who darted out of his reach.

"I want to get out, Voldemort!" Harry said firmly.

Voldemort sighed tiredly. Then he held his arms out wide, beckoning for a hug.

Harry didn't even try and prevent the scowl from coming across his face as he stiffly walked over. As soon as he was in reach, Voldemort grabbed him and held him tightly, before exhaling in satisfaction.

"I will see you soon, pet," he murmured into Harry's ear, and Harry tried to tell himself that he had shivered because Voldemort was really cold, and suddenly Voldemort's body and the rest of the room disappeared. Harry found himself in a well lit room. Bewildered, he sat up, and from the looks of the room, he was in the Ministry. In a holding cell, to be precise. The place was stark, brick walls painted white, with no windows, or even a visible door. There was a dirty seat-less toilet in the corner, and a bare, worn mattress against the wall on a metal bed frame, which he was currently on.

He sighed, and moved so his back was against the wall. Voldemort had really done it now. Not only would he probably go to Azkaban for "going dark" but now "assaulting Aurors" would be added to the charges. He wondered to himself if the Wizarding justice system was anything like the Muggle one. Perhaps it was harsher? Azkaban was already incomparable to any Muggle prison (or maybe Muggles had come up with ways to suck out the happiness of the inmates? And they had cut off the heating? And stuck everyone in solitary confinement?), and already he had been to trial for _self-defensive underage magic_, of all things.

(_That doesn't count. Umbrigde and Fudge were out to get you_)

"Mr. Potter!" Scrimgeour's voice came from somewhere above him. He looked up. The ceiling had gone transparent, and the Minister, along with several angry-looking Aurors, was glaring down at him. "I tried to make things easy for you, Potter! Didn't I give you a choice? Had you not already agreed to help us?"

"I didn't attack you!" Harry shouted. "It was—"

"Silence!" snapped Scrimgeour. "I cannot give you a third chance, Mr. Potter. You will stand trial tomorrow!"

Dread filled Harry. Surely a trial was too much… "But I—"

"And you have been hereby expelled from Hogwarts."

"But I wouldn't even be attending regular classes!" Harry protested. "Dumbledore's—"

"Seemingly turned a blind to all of your dangerous actions, Mr. Potter. And as long as I am Minister, you will go nowhere near that school. I refuse to have more magical children put in unnecessary danger."

"Unnecessary danger?" Harry opened his mouth again, but closed it. _Was_ he a real danger to people now? He was suddenly hit by an image of himself as he strolled down Hogwarts' long corridors. He was whistling gaily when suddenly he keeled over. His eyes became red and he pulled out his wand, laughing insanely as he cursed everyone in sight. He shook his head hard. "What I am going to do then?" he demanded, hands balling into fists. "How am I supposed to defeat Voldemort if I don't learn?"

"The Aurors will handle the Dark forces."

"Handle? How do you expect to _handle_ Voldemort if you can barely take me down while he was possessing me?"

The Aurors shifted. Ah, the Potter boy was being possessed. No wonder. We would have taken him down a lot easier if he had just been plain ol' Potter. He should have said something.

"You think that just because you give them the permission to use the Unforgivables they'll magically capture all the Death Eaters?"

"Well, of course we're going to do it magically," said one Auror, looking confused.

Harry was ready to rip of his hair in frustration with the whole situation. "It's a Muggle expression!" he snapped, leaping to his feet. "What I meant was…that you people think that you'll capture the Death Eaters easily!"

There was a collective "Ohh…" as everyone above understood. Scrimgeour and Harry rolled their eyes.

"It doesn't matter if the Aurors use the Unforgivables or not," Scrimgeour said tersely, not even leaning over so he could glare down at Harry. "The Death Eaters _will_ be captured. And with his followers gone, the Dark Lord will severely weakened."

"He's got a whole back-up army," retorted Harry. "With Dementors, remember? And most people can't summon a Patronus."

"Auror training has been changed to include the Patronus Charm—"

"I'm talking about regular people! The ones that the Dark Lord will target first! Muggleborns and their families! You're mad if you think Voldemort will just have the Dementors swoop down and target only Aurors!"

Scrimgeour stared at someone across from him for a moment, someone Harry could not see, before saying briskly, "Your trial is at 10 tomorrow. Someone will come fetch you." He gave Harry one last scornful look before leaving the room above. The Aurors all followed, and the ceiling clouded back up into white bricks.

Harry growled and ran over to the wall, and kicked it angrily. He then winced in pain and hobbled back to his mattress.

Harry slept fitfully that night. The mattress groaned and squeaked with his every movement, and if he slept in the middle, springs would poke into him. At least Voldemort hadn't visited his dreams, though Harry had expected him to come over and gloat.

He woke up and picked his glasses up off the floor. While he had been sleeping, a plastic tray had been placed in the middle of the room, on the floor. On it, some bread, an apple, and a glass of water.

(_Wonderful. They're prepping me for Azkaban already_)

He picked up the tray and sat on the mattress and ate. He bit into the bread first, and nearly cracked one of his teeth.

(_Must be the bread that even the inmates didn't want_)

He tried squeezing it. It was as firm as a Bludger. He wondered briefly to himself what would happen if he threw it at the wall. It wasn't as if he could eat it. He set it aside and picked up the apple instead. It had a few bruises on it, but otherwise seemed edible. He bit into it and chewed slowly, nervousness coiling into his belly. He swallowed with some difficulty and drank a little water. He finished it and chugged down the water. He tried eating the bread again, but gave up after he heard a crack. Instead he took to throwing it against the wall. It didn't bounce very well, but as long as he threw it high and hard enough, it would bounce off well enough for him to catch it.

"Potter," came Kingsley's voice. He looked over. The Auror was standing in an archway that hadn't been there before. "Come on." He looked grim.

Harry scrambled to his feet, setting down the bread, and walked over to him. Kingsley made him turn around, and brought his arms behind his back. A spell was muttered, and his hands were cuffed together. Harry tried peering over his shoulders to see them, but couldn't.

"Magic-suppressing hand-cuffs," Kingsley supplied. "And only Aurors, or a high-enough ranking official, can take them off."

Kingsley placed a firm hand on his shoulder and led him out. The hallway was full of Aurors, who all had their wands out. Most of them were the ones that Scrimgeour had brought to Grimmauld Place, meaning most of them had something against him. He spotted the female Auror whose wand he had accidentally snapped. She glared at him harshly.

"I'm really sorry about your wand," Harry said, though he didn't think that it'd help his social standing any. He was right; her eyes simply narrowed and she raised her new wand to jab him sharply in the cheek.

"Move it, boy!" she snapped, and Kingsley pushed him forward lightly, shooting her a look. They went down the hallway to the elevators, and went down to the courtrooms. Harry fought not to tremble as they neared the Auror-flanked double doors. Did Dumbledore know he was here? Would he help him again? Was Umbridge going to be there? He could not prevent his shudder as the last thought crossed his mind. Too soon, they stopped in front of the doors. The guard Aurors sneered down at him briefly, before opening the doors.

"Good luck, Potter," whispered Kingsley, so quiet Harry almost didn't hear him. The female Auror and another, gruff-looking one each seized one of his bound arms and dragged him into the courtroom. Numbly, he tried to get his legs to move, but they had frozen up, so he was literally being dragged across the floor. The entire Wizengamot peered down at him, some faces sad, but most angry. His heart raced as they sat him down in the chained chair, his handcuffs disappearing automatically. The chains clinked and slinked around him, coiling around his legs first, then up his chest, and finally around both his arms. He wiggled about, trying to get more breathing room, but the chains only tightened.

"Mr. Potter." He looked up and saw that Scrimgeour had stood up. "You are charged with treason against Muggles and against the British Wizarding World, assaulting Aurors, and fraud. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

"Well," said Harry, trying and failing to calm his fiercely beating heart. "For the first one, I…" He thought desperately. He had no excuse. And lying would worsen things. "I…don't have anything to say." The Wizemgamot members gasped and starting whispering to each other. One woman looked distraught and actually burst into tears.

"And the second charge?" asked Scrimgeour, lips thin.

Harry took a deep breath, since he knew that this was going to sound ridiculous. "I was being possessed by Voldemort." A collective gasp went through the room as the name was mentioned. "I wanted to collaborate with the Ministry. Really. I was even ready to go into the holding cell to 'reassure the people', that's what Scrimgeour said, even though…how would that reassure anyone? And then… Voldemort possessed me and attacked the Aurors."

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named possessed you?" repeated a witch, whom he recognized as Madam Bones, frown lines deepening across her forehead. Already the whispers had started up. Some were already crying out for his arrest, saying he was already a danger to society. She stood up and raised her hand for silence. "Mr. Potter, does this happen often?"

"What? Being possessed or attacking Aurors?"

"Being possessed, boy," she said wearily.

"Er, no. It's only happened twice."

As soon as the words left his mouth, the courtroom was in uproar.

"That's two times too many!" he heard one person shout angrily. Harry's stomach fell down, into a pit somewhere. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Twin bangs were heard behind him. Harry turned as far as the chains would allow him.

"Please excuse an old man's tardiness," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling calmly. "I was so immersed in my knitting patterns that I didn't even notice the time." He came to a stop next to the chair.

"I suppose you wish to defend the boy, Dumbledore?" Scrimgeour asked, looking annoyed.

"Even you can't help him this time, Dumbledore!" shouted one wizard with Malfoy-blond hair, jumping angrily to his feet. Several other angry cries of agreement followed.

"Please," said Dumbledore, and his voice resonated all through the room. Slowly, the cries quieted. "Mr. Potter, what are the charges against you?"

"Treason," Harry muttered to his pants. "Assaulting Aurors."

"Treason?" repeated Dumbledore, sounding surprised. "There's enough to press for treason?" he asked, addressing Scrimgeour. He waved his wand and several scrolls appeared in the air in front of him, floating and unrolling so that he could read them.

"August 9th at 5: 02 PM, Potter seen taking an unauthorized Portkey to Malfoy Manor. August 10th at 6: 48 PM, Potter's magical signature on ruins of a Muggle village near Kent, burnt to the ground. Two bodies were recovered, both have Potter's signature on them, one more strongly than the other."

"My magical signature?" Harry repeated.

"A sort of residue, that will linger after a spell has been cast," supplied Madam Bones impatiently.

"But I didn't even have my wand then!" he protested. The Wizemgamot stared at him in wonder, then the whispers started up, fearfully curious.

"If a wizard is powerful enough, he needn't cast a spell to leave a signature," said Dumbledore, addressing Harry, but his voice carried across the room, quieting the whispers.

"Yes, but if a wizard has such power, he is usually taught to reign his power in," said Madam Bones, looking at Dumbledore sternly. "Which is why wizards like Albus Dumbledore barely leave signatures even when they cast powerful spells."

Dumbledore didn't look fazed in the slightest. "We were going to work on that this year."

"Moving on," said Scrimgeour, resuming his reading. "6: 50, Potter seen being accompanied by known Death Eaters Yaxley and Nott to Malfoy Manor. August 16th, 11:26 AM, Potter does not pay his fare on the Knight Bus."

"That's the charge for fraud?" Dumbledore asked, eyebrows raised. He turned to Harry, his gaze questioning.

"I had just escaped! I didn't have any money, so I told him I'd pay him back the next time I took the bus."

"August 24th, 10:08 AM, Potter, Ronald Weasley, Ginerva Weasley, Molly Prewett Weasley, and Hermione Granger, Muggleborn, attack Aurors Campbell, Mint, O'Brian, Train, Williams, Morrison, and Price."

Dumbledore sighed and started pacing in front of Harry. "The accusations for treason are not important enough to be considered as such. Mr. Potter is an underage wizard, having only turned 16 on July 30th, therefore he is not required to reign in his magic, and as such the claims of having his magical signature picked up is irrelevant to this case. The only event that has enough weight is the fact that Harry went over to Malfoy Manor." Dumbledore turned and addressed him now. "Harry, what do you know about the two bodies?"

"They were Muggles," Harry said, trepidation rising inside of him. "Their village had been attacked by the Death Eaters sometime before…I don't know when exactly. When I escaped from Voldemort the first time, I ran to their village. The man was going to shoot me, and I was near him much longer than I was with the other one, the woman. Then the Death Eaters found me and they were killed."

"The Death Eaters are known for their cruelty to Muggles," Dumbledore said, almost as if to himself. "And just because Yaxley and Nott accompanied Mr. Potter back to Malfoy Manor does not mean that _he_ is a Dark sympathizer."

The Wizemgamot members were mumbling angrily to each other, the noise level growing steadily.

"The accusation of fraud is acceptable," Dumbledore said, resuming his pacing. "However, for assaulting Aurors, Mr. Potter was indeed being possessed by Tom."

"How do you know?" asked Madam Bones, not sounding patronizing, just curious.

"I have reviewed the pensieve memories given to us by the Aurors at the scene, and I have compared them to my own memories of my battle with Tom in the Atrium in the Ministry. Harry's physical state was similar in both cases and he seemed to have difficulty moving."

"But Potter's voice was more of his own in the memory of yesterday," said one wizard with a very bushy mustache. "He could have been faking the physical symptoms."

"Mr. Potter's voice was his own because Tom would not have called out Miss Weasley's name." Harry felt the color rise to his cheeks and tried to shrink down in his chair, but the chains tightened around him. "And Mr. Potter would not have been able to fake the paling of his skin, or the red sheen to his eyes. Could you describe what happened yesterday, Harry?"

"Well…" he started, but he was cut off by the fake-Malfoy wizard.

"What relevance does his description have? No one else has been possessed by You-Know-Who, and just because you claim to have seen Potter be possessed doesn't mean he was!" shouted the not-Malfoy.

"Quirinus Quirrell had been Tom's host in 1991, perhaps earlier. But you are correct, no one else had been quite 'possessed' like Harry had been."

"Like Potter _claimed_ to have been," corrected the blond wizard with a sneer that made Harry decide that he might not be a fake-Malfoy after all.

"Harry?" pressed Dumbledore, ignoring the maybe-Malfoy.

"Well," started Harry, taking a breath. "It starts with a burning in my scar. Normally that means the Voldemort's near… or feeling a really strong emotion. But then, the burning spread to the rest of my body, like…I was being burned alive. And then I couldn't control my body. I tried, but my muscles were too sore…"

"And the time before? In the Ministry?"

"Well, same for the burning. And, well…I couldn't really move that time, it was too painful."

"And have you any other information that would show that you were being possessed?"

"Well, my scar burned, that's probably the most important part. And…

(_should I say this?_)

I heard his voice in my head."

The Wizemgamot exploded. Everyone was on their feet, most of them shouting hysterically for his arrest. Scrimgeour banged his gravel and called for _SILENCE!_ It took a few more bangs for everyone to calm down.

"Mr. Potter," Madam Bones said sternly, her eyes boring into his. "Are in contact with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Of course I am," said Harry, deciding to give her the same, truthful response that he had given to Scrimgeour. "I've been in contact with him since I was a year old."

Mumblings started up. Scrimgeour snorted. The cheek of that Potter boy! Here we are, trying to give him a chance, and he decides to be sarcastic with us!

"And is it only he that can access your mind, or can you access his as well?"

"I…" Harry started reluctantly. He looked up at Dumbledore, as if he might give him a clue as to what to say. The headmaster simply nodded to him. "I can…go into his as well. Its how I saw Mr. Weasley get attacked by Nagini last year."

Mumble, mumble. Whisper, whisper.

"Can you control when and whether or not you access his mind?"

"Normally, he's the one that pulls me in. But…I can go in, if I want to."

The whispers go louder. They sounded like killer bees gathering in strength.

"We will adjourn to discuss your case, Mr. Potter," said Madam Bones, waving her wand and making the scrolls disappear. As she sat down, the same female Auror and her grumpy looking partner stepped next to Harry's chair, and the chains started to uncoil. The Aurors grabbed his arms again and hoisted him up and his wrists snapped behind his back, being automatically handcuffed together again. He was forcefully led from the courtroom, and he was brought back to his holding cell. The handcuffs vanished and someone kicked him into the room. Only his Quidditch reflexes stopped him from smashing his nose against the floor. Instead, he smashed it against the bread. He bit back his groan of pain and turned to yell at whoever had decided to put their foot into his spine, but the door, and the Aurors, had gone, blending seamlessly with the wall. He scowled and picked up the bread, throwing it with all his might against the wall. It bounced back and nearly hit him in the nose again.

It took a long time for the Aurors to come back and get him. He wasn't sure how long he had just sat there, throwing bread against the wall; his wand was the first thing they had taken off of him. He had eventually gotten tired of throwing the bread, and while inspecting it, noticed that several bits of it had cracked off. He started banging it against the floor gleefully. The Aurors that watched him from above through the one-way transparency spell were now sure that Potter had lost his marbles.

The door burst open and the same manhandling Aurors came in. Harry sighed, put down his bread, and stood up, holding his arms behind his back. They did the handcuffing spell, and led him out.

"How long was I in there?" Harry asked the grumpy-looking one, sure that the female Auror would not answer his question.

"Little over two hours," came his grumbled response.

"Thank you," Harry said politely. He didn't even get a reply.

Too soon, they were back in front of the double doors that led to his courtroom. The process from before was repeated; the Aurors guarding the doors stepped aside and sneered, the chains wrapped around Harry, but this time, the Wizemgamot members filed in through small doors on the side, Dumbledore among them. They all sat in their seats, except Madam Bones, who remained standing.

"Mr. Potter, before we start, do you have anything more you'd like to add in your defense?"

"Well…for the fraud, I don't have anything to say. For the Muggles, I… I didn't expect Voldemort to find me so soon. I suppose I caused their deaths indirectly," he mumbled to his jeans. "For the Wizarding World, well…I only went over there, that's all, and my friends have forgiven me for it. I was just…I didn't even do any magic while I was over there, so…" he shrugged, not sure what else he could say.

"Is that all?" asked Madam Bones. He nodded, his heart hammering in his chest. "Very well. We have decided that you cannot be held accountable for the attacks on the Aurors, nevertheless the charges for treason and fraud still stand." A shiver went through Harry's body at her next sentence. "However, the Chief Warlock has requested that we keep the prophecy in mind, even if most of us do not have much faith in divination. The Chief Warlock has also requested that we take in count the possible impact on the general public if you are to be judged for treason. All those judging Harry Potter guilty of fraud?" All of the hands, including Madam Bones' and Dumbledore's, were raised. Harry swallowed nervously. The fraud didn't matter. It was the—"All those judging Harry Potter guilty of treason against Muggles?" A few hands, maybe fifteen or twenty went up. His nails dug into the wood of the chairs. "And all those judging Harry Potter guilty of treason against the Wizarding World?" A lot of hands went up, though Harry noticed that Scrimgeour's was not one of them. He tried desperately to count them, was that half? , but Madam Bones nodded too quickly.

"Harry James Potter, you are found guilty of fraud. You will-"

"Not treason?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. He bit down on his lip as she glared down at him. "I, I'm sorry."

"No, Mr. Potter, not treason. Please do not interrupt me," she affirmed sternly. "You will pay 500 Galleons in fines to the Knight Bus." Harry hung his head and nearly sobbed in relief. "But, Mr. Potter," here his head shot back up, "if you are brought back here with accusations of treason, I assure you, we will not be so lenient a second time, not even if you have already defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." He nodded quickly. "I hope for your sake that this will not come to be."

The Wizemgamot members started filing out. Dumbledore came towards Harry. With a wave of his wand, the chains loosened and uncoiled from around Harry's body. He got up, and took a step forward, only to notice that one bit of chain was still coiled around his foot. Dumbledore gave a smile and waved his wand again. This time, the chain simply loosened, and Harry had to step out of it.

"Come along, Harry," said Dumbledore, and he led Harry out of the courtroom.

* * *

**A/N:** Oh! You thought he wasn't going to Hogwarts, didn't ya? Well, I'm not inspired enough to derivate that far from canon. I mean, how is Harry supposed to obsess over Draco for a year otherwise? (teehee) I was actually suposed to get this out friday. Can you believe it?


	15. Eccentric Headmaster's Office

**WARNINGS:** mmm, none I think

* * *

Harry was almost in shock as he was led away by Dumbledore. Photographers and journalists were all shouting out around them. A few Aurors up ahead were pushing a path through the crowd for them. Some seemed happy for the Boy-Who-Lived, though others seemed irritated that he had gotten off so easily. Harry himself couldn't believe it.

(_No, Mr. Potter, not treason_)

Madam Bones' verdict resounded in his head, like a glorious refrain. He breathed in and out deeply. He almost felt queasy. Or perhaps it was giddiness he was feeling. He wasn't quite sure. All that he knew was that if he vomited right now, it would be a happy vomit. Dumbledore was silent next to him. Harry remarked that he looked calm and composed as ever, though perhaps the twinkle in his eyes was a bit duller than it usually was.

"Sir?" he called out hesitantly.

"Yes, Harry? What is it?" Dumbledore replied, glancing towards him, as a flash went off to his left.

"Are you alright sir?"

The headmaster sighed. "Yes, everything is fine, my boy."

They were approaching the elevators now. One had already been called, and it only took a few seconds for it to whoosh down and open its doors. The Aurors fended off the reporters as Dumbledore and Harry stepped in, before a couple of them got on themselves. The ride was done in silence, and a few moments later, they arrived at their floor. The doors chimed, and opened, revealing more shouting and hysterical journalists. Flashes blinded Harry. There were shouts as the Aurors forcefully pushed the reporters back. Dumbledore took a firm hold of Harry arm and dragged him out and away, towards the Floos.

"Go to Hogwarts, Harry," Dumbledore told him. Harry nodded and grabbed a handful of Floo powder and tossed it in the fireplace, stepping into the green flames before shouting out "Hogwarts!"

It was only when he started whirling about that he wondered where he would be when the Floo spat him out. The Gryffindor common room? The Headmaster's office? Hogwarts did have a lot of fireplaces, after all. Just as long as he did land in – he gave a horrible shudder – Snape's office. He continued to whir about, his hands clenched into fists and his eyes shut tightly, trying to ignore the food rebelling in his stomach. Suddenly, he found himself being propelled forward, his eyes snapped open, and he stumbled out of a hearth. His glasses were sooty, and he took them off to polish them while he peered at the blurry shapes around him. The green flames flared to life behind him, he could feel the heat on his back.

"Have a seat, Harry," came Dumbledore's voice. He obeyed, guessing that the reddish brown thing in front of him was a comfy armchair that the Headmaster was so fond of. He sat down and slid his glasses back onto his nose, recognizing the Headmaster's office immediately as everything snapped back into proper focus.

The two stared at each other for a few moments, Harry blank, and Dumbledore pensive. The portraits of the previous headmasters and headmistresses were all whispering to each other, wondering aloud about the confrontation that was about to take place.

Harry wanted to speak. He tried to get his throat to work, but it was too dry and the words seemed to be stuck down somewhere. Dumbledore's eyes were fixed on one of his many doohickeys that was whirring about on his desk. Fawkes cleaned a scarlet and gold wing from his perch. He paused, looked straight at Harry, and gave a soft, reassuring trill that seemed to hit him full force and send heat flourishing all throughout his body.

"Sir?" he blurted out. Dumbledore hmm-ed in response. "How exactly did the Minister and all of those Aurors get into Grimmauld Place?"

The Headmaster's face went grim for a moment. "I'm afraid that Rufus sees the Order as some sort of vigilante group, but since we are both fighting against Tom, and since he is the Minister for Magic, he sees himself as a sort of commander-in-chief. So he demanded that he have access to the Headquarters and that he be regularly informed of what we know."

"Will it help any?"

Dumbledore sighed tiredly. "Unfortunately, he passed on the Secret to the Aurors that you saw, through the piece of parchment that I had written for him. This might do more harm than good, for we are unaware of how far infiltrated into the Ministry Tom's forces are."

"Snape's in _Tom's forces_, isn't he?"

"_Professor_ Snape is someone I have the highest faith in, Harry."

Harry bit back his scoff with some difficulty before remembering something. "Professor!" he shot to his feet. "What about Ron? And Hermione? And Mrs. Weasley and Ginny? They weren't possessed! What's going to happen to them? Oh no, _why_—"

"Harry," Dumbledore said firmly, stopping Harry's agitated movements. "Sit down."

Harry sat stiffly back down, nearly being swallowed up by the soft material.

"Well, for Miss Granger, Mr. and Miss Weasley, I am sure that they will not be sent to Azkaban, or anything of the sort, since they are underage. At worst they will have to pay some fines and perhaps do some community service, and I would have to take into consideration their expulsion from Hogwarts, but that is all."

"Community service? Expulsion?"

"Community service? Things like vanishing litter, renewing public lighting spells, that sort of thing."

"Oh," said Harry simply. "Hermione would rather die than be expelled from Hogwarts," he said suddenly.

"Mrs. Weasley however…" continued Dumbledore, "well, she isn't underage, so the consequences will be more severe for her. At best, she'd be able to get away with some fines, but at worst, she would go to Azkaban for a few months—"

"Azkaban? She only stepped in because Ron had gotten hit!"

"Mr. Weasley, along with his sister, joined into the fight with the intention to help you. It is natural that the Aurors would turn their attentions to him as well."

"But Hermione… she tried to make us stop…"

"That will undoubtedly be taken in mind."

Harry nodded, further sinking into the armchair. "And it's certain Mrs. Weasley could go to Azkaban?"

"Of course she _could_. There are no other Wizarding prisons in Britain, and assaulting Aurors is considered a serious charge."

"But she didn't..! She's just really protective of her kids, that's all!"

"Yes, I know. If you like, you could prepare arguments for her trial tomorrow, all of their trials tomorrow."

"Couldn't I defend them?" He leaned forward.

Dumbledore paused before answering. "I am more inclined to believe that'd do more harm than good, my boy, with everything that's going on."

"Yeah, I guess," he mumbled, throwing himself further into the stuffing.

"Now, I'd also like to talk to you about the classes you want to be taking with your tutor, Harry."

"But I haven't picked out any tutors yet, sir..."

"True. But don't worry, my boy, of all of the perfectly competent people that I contacted, there were only three that were willing to come and teach you. One was killed in a Death Eater raid two days ago, and another's arm was bitten off by a venomous plant, and thus will not be able to teach you come September. So your choice is easy."

"Huh?"

Dumbledore looked at him, bemused.

"You mean…there's only one guy to choose from?"

"Essentially…yes."

Harry couldn't stop his huff, and his mind was suddenly overloaded with memories of Dumbledore refusing to tell him things, things he should have known, things that would have stopped Sirius from being killed—

Dumbledore was suddenly on his feet, his face thunderous and his wand out. He brandished it firmly at Harry and said something Harry didn't quite catch. Circular ripples burst out from the wand's tip, each shockwave slamming into Harry's body, driving him even further into the armchair.

"Get out of here, Tom!" Dumbledore called loudly, the shockwaves increasing in power. Harry couldn't stop his grunts of pain as each one rammed into him. "Leave!"

Harry suddenly realized that his scar was burning, Voldemort didn't want to leave, Dumbledore was pushing more power into his spell, and Harry's bones felt as if they were being reduced to dust with each powerful jolt.

Voldemort gave a snarl, and his presence in Harry's mind evaporated. The dull burn on his forehead persisted, and his head slumped to the side as Dumbledore stopped his spell. Harry forced himself to take deep breaths and tried to calm his clenching heart. Dumbledore stared at him, having seemingly aged a hundred years, and slowly lowered himself back into his seat.

A few moments, in which the both of them tried to calm themselves and grasp the fact that Voldemort was trying to, more or less subtly, influence Harry's thoughts. Harry's head fell into his waiting hands, and he tried to massage away the fierce headache that was already forming.

A knock on the door jerked them out of their stupor.

"Come in," said Dumbledore with a sigh, straightening his glasses.

The door opened, and a man Harry did not recognize came into the office. The man's onyx eyes took in everything in the room, and it was only when he came up to Dumbledore's desk did Harry gasp.

(_It's…Snape?_)

But it wasn't Snape. As he came closer, the difference between the two men became apparent. Firstly, his nose only had a hint of a hook to it, and his face was pleasanter, though he didn't smile. He was broader, and he was dressed in dark blue robes. Snape would have undoubtedly given him a poisonous glare, whereas this man looked him up and down neutrally before shifting his attention to Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore," the man said smoothly, voice not as low as the Potion Master's. "I would like to discuss some things with you."

"If you'd like. Claudius, this is your new student, Harry—"

The man gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "I know who he is."

"Harry, this is your tutor, Claudius Prince."

"Er, hello…" Claudius gave him a look, before raising his nose the other way. Harry decided quickly that he wasn't so different from Snape after all.

"Indeed, we will talk. Harry? If you could leave us for an hour or so?"

"Er, sure…" he pushed himself up out of the armchair, Claudius's eyes snapping to his form. Harry could feel those dark eyes on his back as he exited the office. He closed the heavy door behind him and descended the spiraling stone stairs. He stepped out into the hall and the stone gargoyle slid back into place behind him. He sighed and started walking about aimlessly. He knew the castle well enough, having lived here for 5 years, after all, but he avoided the dungeons, not wanting to chance any run-in with Snape, even though he was probably at his house. As he walked, he saw the portraits on the walls gasp and start whispering to each other, some looking at him fearfully, but most looking angry.

"We don't want you here, Potter!" cried one knight on the fifth floor, but none of the other portraits said anything and Harry ignored him. He went past the Transfiguration classroom, looped around to pass the Charms room, before deciding to go down to the kitchens. All around him, the portraits were whispering. He pressed his lips together and tickled the pear. It squirmed about before transforming itself into a handle, which Harry grasped and pulled open.

To his surprise, there were only a few house elves working in the kitchens. He supposed it had something to do with it not quite being the school year yet. The elves stopped what they were doing immediately, and stared at him with wide eyes.

"Hello," he said. They continued staring.

One elf, that was having dishes magically washed, stepped forward and said, "Yous is not supposed to be here yet."

"Yes, I know, but I was with Professor Dumbledore, and, well, now he's busy with someone else. Could I have some treacle tart, please?"

The elves glanced at each other, but at the request for treacle tart, they all perked up and all started running around to prepare one. Three hectic minutes later, an entire 12 person tart was placed in front of him by smiling elves.

"Er…thanks! But I'm not sure I can eat all this…"

The elves looked briefly crestfallen, but assured him it would be no problem. Harry ate one slice with relish, chewing slowly, and letting the taste wash over him.

"Is Dobby here?" he asked an elf, reaching for another part.

"Of course, sir. We is all here."

"Dobby?" Harry half called, not sure if he should expect a response. But to his surprise, Dobby did appear, with a loud _pop_. Harry only got a glimpse of a tower of dangerously wobbling hats before said hats were being pressed against his face as an energetic little house elf hugged his knees.

"Harry Potter sir! You has come to see Dobby!" The elf backed away, happiness shining in his eyes as he gushed. "Is there something Dobby can do for Harry Potter?"

"Well, not really. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I hope you're not too busy," he added, realizing that Dobby might have been doing something.

"No, no. Dobby was just making sure all was ready for when the students is coming back for term. There is still preparations we must be doing for the feast!"

"Well, I'm sure it'll be great as always."

Dobby's tennis ball eyes filled with tears and he thanked Harry profusely.

There was a moment of silence between the two, during which Harry bit into another part of treacle tart (the last one, promise!) and Dobby stared at him. The elf spoke up hesitantly, rubbing his orange and red socked toe against the floor. "Harry Potter? Can Dobby be asking a question?"

"Of course."

"Did Harry Potter really go and join He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

He paused, tart halfway to his mouth. He gave a tiny sigh, before putting the dessert down. "It was a mistake, Dobby," he finally said.

"But..!" the elf's eyes were really filled with tears now. "Bad wizard! Bad wizard tried to _kill Harry Potter_!"

"I know, I know," he said, interrupting the elf. "But Dumbledore was bad too, a little. But so was I."

Dobby frowned at the floor, his tower of hats swaying. "But why?" he finally asked, raising confused eyes to meet Harry's. "Why is Harry Potter going over to the bad wizard?"

Harry sighed, and turned back to his half-finished treacle tart. He took a bite and enjoyed it before turning his mind back to the conversation, deciding to tell the elf the same thing he had told everyone else. "It was a mistake. I was angry about not knowing certain things, and I just…I should have talked to Dumbledore about it instead, but I went off to Voldemort like an idiot…"

"And is Harry Potter returning to Hogwarts?"

"Yes. I won't be taking classes with the others though. I'll have a tutor…" Harry wrinkled his nose, trying to change the subject, "Claudius Prince. I'm not sure what to think of him yet."

Dobby stared at him for a while. Harry didn't meet his gaze.

"Dobby is having work to do," he finally said. "Dobby hopes that Harry Potter will come and visit him during term." And with that he Apparated away, leaving Harry with an ache in his belly, feeling disgusted with himself.

* * *

**A/N:** I felt like I had to put this out. My internet time will be greatly reduced and I've got huge exams coming up, so don't expect any updates until the end of june, really.

But while you're still here, you should check out my new story, _Nagedemort_, about Voldemort assigning his Death Eaters the task of helping him overcome his weakness of love... It's great, I promise! ;p

Don't forget to review! :)


	16. New Dorm Room

**WARNINGS:** none...

* * *

Harry glared morosely at the remaining treacle tart as if it were its fault that Dobby was so open to him anymore. He struggled with himself briefly before giving up and taking a third slice, cramming it into his mouth.

(_You'll make yourself sick!)_ the voice in his head said, sounding like Hermione. He ignored it easily. The sweetness tasted almost rancid against his tongue.

The portrait swung inward. He didn't turn around and concentrated on the treacle instead, though he knew elves wouldn't come in through the portrait.

"Mr. Potter," a low smooth voice from behind. He took another bite and turned around on the bench. Claudius didn't look at all like Snape from this angle, though those similar dark eyes pierced through him easily. "Headmaster Dumbledore requests your presence," he said. Harry nodded, and stuffed the rest of the tart in his mouth. He stood, chewing, and wiped his hands on his jeans, not missing his new tutor's raised eyebrow before he turned away and stepped smoothly out of the portrait hole. Harry dutifully followed.

"Er, sir? May I ask a question?"

"You just did," he pointed out dryly.

"Well, er…may I ask two more?"

"If you must."

"Are you related to…Professor Snape?"

"Unfortunately." Harry wasn't sure if he meant 'unfortunately no' or 'unfortunately yes', so he settled for 'unfortunately yes'. After all, no sane person would want to be related to Snape. Before long, they were back in front of the stone gargoyle.

"Blood pop," said Claudius, and the gargoyle jumped out of the way, revealing the spiraling staircase. They stepped onto it, and Claudius was soon knocking on the door and entering.

"Please have a seat, gentlemen," said Dumbledore, looking pleased. "Claudius, have you told Harry about the basics?"

"No," came the short answer.

"No matter," replied Dumbledore, completely unruffled. It must come from dealing with sourer people, Harry mused. "Well, my boy," he said, turning towards Harry, "Claudius estimates his fees for the year at 8 000 Galleons."

Harry frowned. "Is…that a lot?"

"Well, Hogwarts tuition is 3 500 per year, and you, of course have been refunded for this year."

"So it is a lot," said Harry.

"Yes, but I assure you, my boy, Claudius is well worth it. He has four Masteries, and I am confident that you will learn just as much, if not more than your year mates."

"What Masteries does he have?"

Dumbledore continued speaking. "Charms, Transfiguration, History of Magic, and Arithmancy."

"History of Magic? Arithmancy? But, Professor, those subjects won't help me become an Auror."

Dumbledore looked surprised and even Claudius raised an eyebrow.

"You still want to become an Auror, Harry?"

"Yes," he replied, bemused. "Why? Is that surprising?"

"Surely you've had enough of chasing after Dark wizards for a lifetime," commented Claudius. "Why else would you have asked to join the Dark Lord? To have a change of scenery?"

Harry balled his hands into fists. "I didn't ask, technically…" he muttered.

"Hmm? What was that?" Claudius said loudly, in a tone that screamed superiority. Harry didn't bother to dignify that with an answer.

"And Claudius has more than sufficient knowledge in the other subjects to give you a proper 6th year's education," Dumbledore said.

(_But is it worth 8 000 Galleons?_)

"Still sir, 8 000 Galleons is a lot," Harry pointed out.

"Mr. Potter," said Claudius. "The Hogwarts tuition you are accustomed to paying is so low because it must be easily accessible to the Muggleborns that it invites every year. And the tuition is further lowered by the fact that several hundred students are paying the salary of one teacher. My price seems high to you, but you must remember that you are paying for my protection—"

"Protection?" interrupted Harry. "From what?"

"From anyone and everyone that would wish me harm because of my position as your tutor," replied Claudius as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Harry frowned. "Why would they want to harm you?"

(_If they'd wanted to be my damn tutor, they'd have just applied, now wouldn't they?_)

Claudius gave the Headmaster an almost disbelieving look. "Dumbledore, you told me he was intelligent."

"He is," replied Dumbledore simply. Claudius scowled.

"Don't you keep up with the news, Potter? The public is so afraid of you going Dark that they don't like the idea of you being taught anything. Why do you think that there were calls for you to be expelled from Hogwarts?"

"They wanted to expel me when I protected myself and my Muggle cousin from Dementors last year," Harry said defensively. "Next time they'll want me expelled for picking flowers!"

Claudius gave him a look. Harry glared back. "I'm not getting paid enough," Claudius muttered under his breath.

"Yeah, well, it'd be pretty sad if a bunch of students could overpower you, oh Master of Defense," Harry shot.

"You underestimate the power of hatred, Potter," came his cool response. "As well as the power of 'strength in numbers'."

Harry threw himself back into his seat. "As you sure there's no one else for the job, Professor?" he asked as politely as he could.

"I am confident that you and Claudius will overcome your differences, Harry, just as I know you and Professor Snape have."

"What? You think me and Snape..?"

"And I know that your Occlumency lessons will go splendidly this year."

"But…please, sir, couldn't you just give me the lessons instead?"

"I will be, my boy, partially, but Severus is much more skilled at it than I am."

(_This is going to be one hell of a year_)

Claudius Prince looked at his new student from out of the corner of his eye as they walked to their adjacent quarters. He regretted having to take this job, but he needed the money. He regretted further having to take this job, because the boy didn't seem very willful. Not to mention that he'd be forced to see his insufferable cousin too many days of the week. He sighed and ran over his lesson plan mentally. He still needed to work on the potions plan, and he needed some leaf cuttings from that woman, Sprout.

They stopped on the sixth floor in front of a portrait of a young maiden dressed in violet robes. "Criminal," Claudius said simply, and the young woman nodded and her portrait swung outward, allowing them entrance.

"Criminal?" Harry repeated, unimpressed.

"People won't think that you'd call yourself a criminal when you enter your own rooms."

Behind the portrait there was a small room, done in neutral white tones, with a circular table in the middle. In front of the unlit fireplace on the left wall, there were two armchairs, and on the opposite wall there were four empty bookshelves, and a large portrait of a centaur. On the right wall, there was another large portrait, one of a man in hunting clothes.

"Your rooms are to the right. You are expected to set a password for them and you will be sitting at that table," he pointed at the circular one, "at 8 o' clock sharp tomorrow morning. Is that clear?"

"Yes," replied Harry. Claudius immediately swept off towards the painting of the centaur, and whispered something too quiet for Harry to hear. The centaur nodded, and the portrait swung outwards to reveal a dark sort of corridor, into which the man entered and disappeared. The portrait swung shut and Harry went over to his own portrait. The man looked at him appraisingly. "Er…" said Harry, feeling stupid. "I'm supposed to set a password..?"

"Is this a question?" the man asked, unimpressed.

Harry sighed and resisted the urge to smack himself, or bet yet, the portrait. Nothing was going very well today. "No. It wasn't. I do need to set one."

"And what will it be?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Er…friends…" he said, thinking of them sitting in white, sterile Ministry holding cells. "Yes, friends."

"Friends it is, then," said the man simply, and the portrait swung open, allowing him entrance. The corridor was short but dark, illuminated by a single torch that promptly burst into flame as soon as he set his foot down past the portrait hole. He walked for more or less 15 feet, before turning right. The light behind him was promptly extinguished. Harry found himself in a small room that was perhaps half the size of his old Gryffindor dorm room. His four-poster bed, at the far end of the room, was incidentally the same one he had been using for the last five years. There were two small night tables on either side of it, both with small lamps. There was a desk underneath the window on the leftmost wall. There was a bare bookshelf on the rightmost wall, and a plush armchair underneath a tall floor lamp next to it, in the corner. He noticed that his trunk, usually at the foot of his bed, was absent. He suddenly realized that he hadn't even finished his packing.

(_And class starts tomorrow!_)

He started to dash back out into the corridor, but quickly decided that Claudius probably wouldn't care. And he couldn't write a letter to Mrs. Weasley because, his heart sank, she was awaiting trial, along with her two youngest children and Hermione. Typically there wasn't anyone else there, other than Mr. Weasley, who had probably gone back to the Burrow. Remus had gone AWOL, Tonks, Kingsley, Mad-Eye, and a whole bunch of others only came over for Order meetings. Snape probably wasn't there, but Harry wasn't even considering him to be the one to bring his trunk to Hogwarts. He sighed and went out of the corridor, pushed the portrait open, and exited the common room. He descended the stairs and went towards Dumbledore's office. After a few minutes, he found himself in front of the stone gargoyle. He said the password and was soon being conveyed by the spiraling stone staircases. He paused at the door, listening for voices, and after hearing none, knocked.

"Enter," came the Headmaster's voice. Harry complied. "Harry, my boy, you're back so soon?" Dumbledore sounded surprised.

"Well, sir, I just realized that I didn't have my trunk with me, and so…I'll need it for class."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, looking as if he too had forgotten. "Not to worry about it, I'll have a house elf fetch it from Grimmauld Place. You have everything packed up, I trust?"

Harry hesitated. "Well, everything…not everything, not exactly." To his surprise, Dumbledore gave a small chuckle. He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a piece of parchment.

"Why don't you write down the list of things that you don't have packed yet, and they'll be taken care of." He pushed the parchment towards him, along with a simple quill and an inkwell.

"OK, sir. Thanks," said Harry, who turned to go.

"Remember to bring it back before dinner."

Harry rolled the parchment up and stuck it in his jeans pocket, along with the quill. The inkwell he cradled in his hand, not wanting away of the liquid to spill. He soon was back at the portrait guarding his and his tutor's chambers, said the password with only a hint of disliking, and went to his portrait, saying this password a bit gloomier. He needed to try and prepare arguments in their defense for their trials, even if, he told himself, he knew nothing about how Wizarding law worked.

(_But it was my fault they're in this situation, so I should help in getting them out!_) So he resolutely gritted his teeth and sat down at his new desk.

* * *

**A/N:** Hooray, this is out! Remember to review! :)


	17. Big Dusty Library

**WARNINGS: **torture, slash

* * *

An hour later, Harry was having trouble coming up with more arguments to defend his friends. Feeling guilty, he started on the list of things he hadn't packed yet. Wracking his brains for something other than 'socks', he gave a frustrated sigh and started doodling on the parchment. He alternated between the two lists, writing whatever came to mind.

His watch read 3:16. He got up, stuffed the lists in his pocket and headed for the library.

* * *

He was four pages through the first book he had pulled off the shelf, simply titled _Wizarding Law_, which, by the way, was more boring than listening to Binns, when he fell asleep. He found himself in the 'dream space', and didn't bother hiding his scowl when he caught sight of Voldemort sitting at the desk, scribbling away on a long piece of parchment.

"Don't worry, pet," the Dark Lord said, not looking up from his work. "I'll be with you in a moment."

Harry sighed and waited, not bother to try and throw himself backwards out of Voldemort's mind, having seen the Occlumency shield which had replaced the ceiling. After a few moments, Voldemort finally set down his quill and joined him on the bed, where he was sitting.

"I wasn't expecting you until later in the night," he said silkily.

"I didn't come here on purpose," replied Harry.

"Do you not enjoy my company, pet?" came the response, sounding only slightly offended.

"What do you know about Wizarding Law?" Harry asked instead.

"Wizarding Law? I know that you've never had an interest in it."

Harry sighed and tried a different tactic. "Oh fine. I don't know why I waste my breath asking you."

"Pet…" came the predicted croon. "Don't be that way. I'll tell you everything you want to know in exchange for a small favor."

"What is it?" Dread coiled in his belly.

"Oh…a tiny thing, really…" Harry suppressed the urge to groan and settled for gripping the sheets discretely. "I want to tie you up and whip you and dry fuck you," Voldemort murmured in his ear.

"WHAT?" Harry leaped away from the Dark Lord, who was now grinning openly. "No, absolutely not. Not even if you offered to kill yourself!"

Voldemort let out a loud chuckle. "I knew you'd say no. So I'll take something else."

Harry let out a harsh breath. "What now?"

"I want to give you a hand job."

Harry frowned at him. "You do?"

Voldemort had an eerie smile on his face. "I do."

"No," Harry said after a moment, uneasy. "Not with that look on your face, you won't." Who knew what Voldemort might do to his poor cock…rip it off, twist it, set it on fire, feed it to Nagini…Harry shifted nervously and crossed his legs just thinking about it.

"You will give me a massage, then."

"A massage?"

Voldemort nodded, the smile not leaving his face.

"A _massage_?" Harry repeated again, confused.

"Yes." Their eyes locked, ruby on emerald. "A simple massage, of my neck and shoulders, and I will tell you all I know about Wizarding Law."

"For how long?" Harry asked, determined that there was some catch to it.

"Five minutes," came his simple reply, accompanied by an equally simple shrug. Harry stared at him for a moment, as if he could read the other's thoughts on his face. He finally sighed.

"Alright then." Voldemort's eerie smile turned into a smug smirk, and he parted his robe slowly and pulled it off his shoulders. Harry watched neutrally as he revealed his pale, hairless chest, the robe pooling onto the bed around his hips. Voldemort turned slightly around, showing Harry his back. Harry bit down on the inside of his cheek and hesitantly scooted closer, laying his hands on those cold shoulders. He had never actually given a massage before. None of the Dursleys came near him, and their touches were smacks. All he had to do was rub, right? He tentatively squeezed the slender shoulders, and started rubbing the muscles that he could feel. He glanced at his watch and continued rubbing, Voldemort occasionally giving tiny, pleased 'hmm's.

"This is rather erotic, don't you think?" said Voldemort after a moment.

"No," replied Harry shortly, and glanced at his watch again. His hands travelled across the slender shoulders towards the long, slim neck. Using his thumbs, he rubbed at the muscles at the base before going upwards slowly towards the jaw. His hands moved forwards, and he suddenly had a vision of himself strangling Voldemort to death. Would that even work, here in their minds? He looked at his watch again and saw that he had gone a minute past.

"I'm done," he said, hands flopping back to the bed. "Now for your part of the deal."

Voldemort 'hmm'ed again and pulled his robes back on slowly. He turned back around and Harry noticed that he hadn't closed his robes properly. He averted his eyes and looked at Nagini coiled in front of the fireplace.

"Well, pet, if I'm honest with you, I haven't the slightest clue about how the justice system works."

Harry froze. His eyes flickered to Voldemort's. "W…hat?"

"I know next to nothing about laws." He was wearing that eerie smile again. "I leave everything to Lucius and trust that he'll do things properly."

"What? You..! You lied to me!"

"No, I didn't," came the immediate response.

"You did! You said you'd tell me everything I wanted to know-"

"But I never claimed to know anything…"

"You..!" Harry shot off the bed and started to pace, enraged. "You..!" He turned to Voldemort. "I knew you would have done something! Why did I believe you? I'm such an idiot!" He grabbed at his hair and tugged at it harshly, resuming his pacing.

"That's not false…" murmured the Dark Lord.

"Shut it!" Harry snapped. "I've got a little more than two hours to try and help my friends because of a mess that _you_ got them into, and now I'm wasting time massaging your shoulders!"

"You're always blaming me," said Voldemort, who was suddenly looking at him very seriously. "And I don't mind. I _enjoy_ ruining your life. If I wasn't so busy, I'd tie you up and keep you locked away someplace where no one would be able to get you out. It must be strange, getting punished for something legitimate, and not having that bushy haired Mudblood here to help you out…All the dangerous exploits that you've done over the years, you've never done any of the hard thinking, and when everything's done, you've merely gotten away with a slap on the wrist. Not even when you broke into the Ministry in the dead of night were you punished."

"I went on trial for underage magic—"

"That was because the incompetent fool of an ex-Minister and his Undersecretary had a personal vendetta against you. Not even when you were whisked away into the graveyard last year to help resurrect me were you punished."

"I had no control over that," Harry said hotly. "And Fudge didn't believe me anyway. No one did, except for Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore could have punished you."

"Dumbledore wouldn't have punished me for something I had no control over."

"He could have tied you to his desk and whipped you," said Voldemort, not seeming to have heard Harry. "But I'm glad he didn't." His eyes zoomed onto Harry's, piercing him like twin lasers. "Because only I will punish you in such a manner."

"I haven't done anything!" snapped Harry. "If anyone should be punished, it's you!"

"Why?"

"You're trying to ruin everyone's lives. You want to kill Muggleborns and Muggles, even the ones that you've never met in your life! And you're a liar…a bloody manipulative liar."

"I've already told you about how I didn't lie about my knowledge on Wizarding Law. And I'm not trying to ruin everyone's lives. I simply wish to have stricter regulations for the Muggles and Mudbloods that are brought into our world."

"I don't believe that. Your Death Eaters torture Muggles for fun."

"Who am I to deny them their entertainment? Just as you will not deny me my entertainment…" Harry looked at him strangely before looking away quickly. "Do you know why Dumbledore and I have so few followers?"

"Because you killed all of yours off?"

Voldemort shot him a look. "Many consider us extremist groups. Most people do not care about the Mudbloods that come into our community, because they are few and far between. But Mudbloods are discriminated against by our blood-based society, which is simply intolerable for that old man that you so revere."

"It is intolerable. It's stupid to deny someone something just because they aren't like you."

"Perhaps," mused Voldemort. "But they're changing everything. In the past ten years, there have been more reforms than in the past hundred years. Those Mudbloods are getting too bold, too careless. They are a danger to our very way of life."

"What way of life? Interbreeding until you all are completely deformed?"

"Our culture," said Voldemort instead. "What do you know about Wizarding customs? Do you know the names of our holidays, and why we celebrate them? Why we choose to wear robes most of the time instead of trousers?"

Harry was silent. "Why don't we learn this stuff at Hogwarts?"

"The self-respecting families teach their children. Mudbloods are supposed to learn this on their own."

"How are they—how are _we_ supposed to learn this on our own? Books don't tell us everything there is to know. Demonstration is the best way to teach someone," he said, thinking back to the DA.

"Perhaps. But as no one cares much about Muggleborns, there is no one to teach them."

"That's not very fair."

Voldemort shrugged carelessly. "Now…" he said slowly, leaning back on the bed. "Do you really think I should be punished?" he asked in a strange tone of voice.

"Sure," Harry replied indifferently, looking at the door. He wondered to himself if it worked like a real door.

"And are you volunteering yourself to punish me?"

"I—" he cut himself off abruptly. He turned to face Voldemort slowly. "What did you say?"

He had that eerie smile once again. "Are you volunteering yourself…" he said, deliberately slow, "to punish me?"

Harry stared at him for a long while. The strange smile did not waver. "I took you more for the sadistic type," he said confusedly.

"Oh, I am. But you are so hesitant in coming to bed with me, and I thought that this might entice you."

Harry stared at him some more. "Dumbledore's right. You are going insane."

He wasn't prepared for the _Crucio_ that hit him as soon as he finished his sentence. He fell to the floor, screaming out in surprise and pain, thrashing about until Voldemort lifted the torture spell.

"I would appreciate it, pet," he said coolly, "if you did not mention the old man's name while I am trying to seduce you."

"Yeah, because you're doing a great job," Harry said sarcastically, resting his forehead against the cool wooden floor. "Such a wonderful job, that I'm thinking of Dumbledore naked instead of you." He was instantly hit by another _Crucio_, though this one was held for less time.

(_I suppose I deserved that one, though I tortured myself, thinking of Dumbledore naked_) he shuddered, glad his body was already trembling from the after-effects of the torturing spell. Thin, skeletal arms snaked around his torso and lifted him. He was carried a short way, then dumped unceremoniously onto the bed. His glasses bent, and he lifted a trembling hand to straighten them.

"Oh, pet," murmured Voldemort, running a cold hand through Harry's unruly locks. Harry shifted away from him. Voldemort simply followed him and continued his movements.

"I want to talk to Malfoy," Harry said suddenly, not lifting his face from the duvet.

The hand in his hair stilled. "Why?" There was a hint of a dangerous tone to the word.

"Because I want him to whip me," Harry said sarcastically. "I want to ask him about laws, what did you think?" The hand in his hair disappeared. A second later, Voldemort gave him a harsh _smack_ on his arse. Harry cried out in surprise and scrambled away from him. "What the hell was that for?"

"I told you," Voldemort said, looking deadly serious, "that only _I_ will punish you in such a manner."

"It was a joke," Harry said dryly, rubbing his bottom. He hadn't been spanked since…he'd still been called 'Freak'. And Uncle Vernon had never stopped at just one. "As if I'd ever let Malfoy touch me, let alone in that way." The look on Voldemort's face did not disappear. "Can I talk to him now? You can even stay in the room and make sure he doesn't take out his whip," he said mockingly.

"_Regretfully_," said Voldemort, though his tone indicated that he felt anything but, "no others may join us in here."

"Why not?"

"The special nature of our bond would not allow it."

Harry stared at him. "I…Could…I want to know more about this bond…link…connection thing."

"Our _connection thing_?" repeated Voldemort, unimpressed. Harry nodded, slight color rising to his cheeks. Voldemort continued staring at him, before saying, "Very well. I shall tell you all you wish to know about our _connection thing_—"

"Which is to say, nothing at all?" Harry interrupted. Voldemort stared him down coolly.

"It suffices to say that I know more about our bond than Wizarding Laws." Harry said nothing, so he continued. "Our bond is…extraordinarily special. One of a kind. As you know, no one else has ever survived the Killing Curse—"

"Why is that? Surely more people sacrifice themselves for the ones they love?"

"_Crucio_." Harry bit down hard on his lip and thrashed about on the bed noiselessly, before Voldemort lifted the spell. "I would appreciate it, _pet_, if you did not interrupt me again." He watched the boy pant on the bed for a moment, briefly imagining his flushed face under different circumstances, before continuing to talk. "And so, since no one else has survived the Killing Curse, no one else would be able to tell you much about this bond."

"But Dumbledore—" Harry broke off, seeing the Dark Lord's glare. "I mean, er, the Headmaster… he told me that much. That it was unique, I mean," he added. "And that you transferred some of your powers to me that night."

Voldemort looked slightly put off. "Yes, that is true. That's how you have the ability to speak Parseltongue. I also believe some of my magical power was transferred to you." He paused. "Our bond allows us to glimpse into each other's thoughts, allows us to send images to each other." Harry's face darkened faintly. "Which is how I so ingeniously lured you to the Department of Mysteries just last month." Harry refused to look at him, instead glowering darkly at the sheets that he was fisting. Voldemort was silent for a moment, contemplating him. "That is what I know."

"Why do we have this bond? Would this have happened to anyone else that survived the Killing Curse?"

Voldemort was silent again. "I do not know," he finally said. Harry looked at him. Voldemort looked back.

"I think you do know," Harry said, frowning.

A hint of a smile tugged at Voldemort's mouth. "Perhaps. I have a hypothesis, of course." He ignored Harry's muttered "_Do you, now?_", and elaborated. "Do you know much about marriage bonds?"

"I won't lie to you," Harry said condescendingly.

Voldemort gave another chuckle. "Well, most marriage bonds link the magical powers of the two spouses, it's considered a way of lengthening the couple's time together, since if one of them is dying of a wound, the other can lend their magic to sustain them."

Harry didn't like where this was going. "What are you trying to say?"

"Well, we are magically linked…"

"No. You said that _you_ transferred some of your powers to me, not the other way around—" Harry broke off suddenly, as a strange sensation swept through him. He swallowed and gripped the sheets harder as the sensation quickly got stronger. His breathing quickened and he grasped at his chest, feeling as if the air was slowly being sucked out of his lungs. His scar throbbed once. He gasped for breath and squeezed his eyes shut and clawed at his chest. His limbs started tingling as magic left them, his body started feeling heavier, as if it were made of lead. His breaths started becoming more labored as fatigue gripped him. Somewhere in his mind he realized Voldemort was moaning softly. He doubled over, pain now blossoming in his chest. His vision blurred at the edges. His head throbbed actively. With a tiny groan, he fell head first off the bed. He dimly registered pain on the side of his head, where he had smashed it against the floor, but the pain in his chest overrode all his senses. All of the sudden, the sucking in his chest stopped, though neither the pain in his chest or his head faded. He felt himself levitating in the air briefly before he was deposited on the bed. A hand on his hip rolled him over and he tiredly opened his eyes. His glasses had been bent by his fall, but that was not what made him gasp in shock (or horror? Whatever it was, it made his chest hurt more) as he took in the sight of the man leaning over him.

An older looking Tom Riddle, with only a few more lines on his face than the one that he had seen in the Chamber of Secrets during his second year, stared down at him smugly, his skin nearly glowing and his eyes glimmering like rubies.

"What…" Harry rasped, speaking with great difficulty. "What did you do to me? What did you do to _you_?"

"Well, since we are magically linked, we are able to share power. Which is what you just graciously allowed me to do."

"Allowed?" Harry repeated, head flopping to the side. "Graciously?"

"Well, you don't know how to block me. Thanks to your incompetence, I was allowed to drain your magic. And Lord Voldemort is merciful, so he shall give you back your strength…" he leaned down. "In exchange for something, of course."

"What now?" Harry groaned, shutting his eyes. "I haven't got the energy to shout at you."

"Oh, a simple kiss, pet, that's all I ask for."

"I hate you," Harry grumbled. "_You_ steal my magic away and _I'm_ the one that has to pay to get it back."

"Of course," said Voldemort, sounding amused. "Think of it as me holding your magic for ransom. And the payment? Have you got it?"

"If I must," Harry said, chest heaving painfully with a long-suffering sigh.

"Oh pet…" Voldemort's breath ghosted over Harry's lips. His scar throbbed twice. "No one is obliging you to pay me. You know that, don't you?"

"Just do it, Voldemort." Harry snapped, and got a smirk in return, though he didn't bother opening his eyes to see it. Voldemort's warm mouth came down onto his and he gasped as he felt actual lips on his own. Voldemort took that opportunity to dart his tongue quickly between his pet's parted lips, mindful of what had happened the last time he had tried that. He leaned down lower, pressing their chest together and gripping the boy's hip. Harry's breathing quickened; he felt as if air, but not quite, was flowing back into his body via his chest. His mouth opened wider, and in the back of his now hazy mind, he realized he let out a loud groan. Voldemort got rougher with his kisses, biting down harshly on his bottom lip and his stubbly jaw.

Magic was flowing into him, into every part of him. His traitorous hand came up and grabbed the back of Voldemort's robes, trying to push him closer. His suddenly erect member thrust up against the Dark Lord's hip. To his shame, he let out a loud uncontrolled moan. Somehow, his jeans against that firm, robed hip felt so much better than his own hand.

"Voldemort…" he hissed. Voldemort's mouth descended to his ear and bit down on the lobe. "More…" His other arm came up and wrapped around Voldemort's torso, pressing them further together. He felt colder than he had before, Harry realized, but the coolness felt wonderful against his sweaty skin. Harry reached down and started tugging on his t-shirt and trying to part Voldemort's robes, wanting, _needing_ to get more of that cool skin.

Voldemort panted raggedly above him, face shining with sweat. He gave a small chuckle. "Shall I give you that hand job now, pet?"

"_Yes_," Harry hissed. "_Yes_."

Voldemort smiled tiredly, pushing himself up. He reached down and undid Harry's jeans and reached into his boxers. Harry's eyes flew open as Voldemort grasped his member firmly.

"_Voldemort_!" he shouted, and everything flashed black in his vision. He suddenly found himself back in the library, drool all over his face and the fourth and fifth pages of _Wizarding Law_, with a raging hard-on. He cursed loudly, mostly at Voldemort for pushing him out in this state, when he heard a loud chuckle resonate in his head.

(_Damn! Damn! And Pince'll kill me when she sees this…_)

He wiped his face with his arm and took out his wand to try and Vanish up the drool on the book. He soon gave up, by fear of accidentally Vanishing up one of the pages and instead stood (glancing around to see if anyone else was around first) and started mopping it up with his t-shirt. He stiffly put the book back onto its shelf and headed for the exit. He glanced at his watch, and he still had about fifteen minutes before dinner. He looked both ways before going out of the library, and dashed to the nearest boy's bathroom. He locked himself in a stall quickly, got his cock out and closed his eyes, drawing up the memory of magic flowing to every bit of his body. A silly grin split his face, and he started tugging. Later, he flushed the toilet and came out of the stall with an even wider grin. He washed his hands and left the bathroom, whistling cheerily, and headed for the Great Hall. Soon, he was in front of the huge doors, and he pushed one open. Several sets of eyes flickered towards him, and immediately Harry felt the tension in the room shoot up.

"Er…hi?"

This seemed to break the Professors out of their trances and those who were still standing joined their colleagues and sat down at the Hufflepuff table, seemingly avoiding his eyes. Harry greeted each teacher he passed, luckily, Snape was not present, and they murmured a greeting in return. Dumbledore smiled at him as he sat down across from Claudius.

"Harry, my boy, have you got your lists?" Dumbledore asked him. Harry froze, hand reaching for the pumpkin juice.

"Er…yeah," he said and wordlessly fished the crumpled parchments out of his pocket and sheepishly handed them to Dumbledore, who thanked him and tucked them into his robes pocket without even looking at them. They all started serving themselves, and conversation was close to non-existent.

"Could you pass the salt, Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked politely.

"Here you are, Mr. Potter," she said curtly, and continued eating.

"Harry Potter…" came a voice from down the table. Harry leaned forward and caught sight of Trelawney staring at him, her eyes huge and magnified through her glasses. "My Inner Eye has seen…"

"My death?" he asked dryly, and scooped more beef into his mouth.

"Yes, of course…but for the moment it has been postponed…"

Harry paused mid-chew, as the other professors shot Trelawney murderous looks.

(_Well, that's better than usual, I suppose_)

* * *

**A/N:** ahh, there you go. I gave you what you asked for: a longer chapter and a bit of V/H action. I do hope this will entice you to leave a review, hint, hint. :)


	18. Steaming Scarlet Engine

**WARNINGS: **slash right here in the beginning

* * *

Dinner passed stiffly and quietly, the teachers seemingly fearful of provoking Harry's wrath and incurring his new knowledge of the Dark Arts. Harry himself was content to just sit and enjoy his dinner, which was delicious as always, part of him glad that no one was pestering him for apologies or explanations, but another part of him sad that his professors were acting this way. (Though Snape would have probably sneered at him uncaringly, and possibly used some of his own knowledge of the Dark Arts on him…)

Harry soon finished his meal, excused himself and returned to his room. Apprehension coiled in his stuffed belly. Ron and Hermione, nor Ginny, would be here tomorrow. Most of the students would probably give him glares that would make Snape proud. From the Slytherins, he wasn't sure what to expect. They'd probably be as hostile as ever.

He flopped down onto his bed, glasses going askew as he nuzzled the warm duvet. It was too early to go to sleep; it was only around 7 o' clock. Unintentionally, his mind went back to his afternoon with Voldemort.

(_Harry was on his hands and knees, completely naked, a studded, black leather collar around his neck, chaining him to the bed's headboard._)

Harry lifted his head, startled. Was _he_ thinking of such things?

(_Voldemort was behind him, fully clothed, a whip in his hand, grinning gleefully as he brought the whip down on Harry's arse_)

Harry cried out and involuntarily leapt off the bed, having felt the whip smack him in reality, his buttocks stinging.

(_Voldemort laughed sadistically and pressed an open-mouthed kiss on Harry's sweaty back before bringing the whip down again. Harry moaned and_)

Harry cried out again, running to the other side of the room where he might be safe.

(_"More, Voldemort!" he begged, and the Dark Lord graciously obliged him_)

"Stop it!" Harry shouted to the empty room. The imaginary whip landed another blow and he jumped and rubbed his bottom.

(_Voldemort put down the whip and turned his pet over onto his back. Harry's face was red and his chest shone with sweat as he panted for breath. Voldemort leaned down and slowly, teasingly, ran his tongue up and down Harry's chest._)

"Stop it!" Harry hissed, hands grasping uselessly at the wall, having backed up into a corner, his nipples tingling from (_imaginary?_) stimulation.

(_Voldemort's hands slid down, grasping his hips before going down to squeeze his sore buttocks, his tongue never ceasing its movements. After massaging his buttocks briefly, his hands slid up to grasp at his member. Harry cried out, back arching off the bed as Voldemort slid his mouth down onto it. His sweaty hands reached down to grasp at Voldemort's bald head_)

"Ah…ah…st…stop…stop…" murmured Harry, his knees quivering and fingers burning from clawing at the wall. His breath came in and out of his open mouth harshly and his head tipped back, hitting the wall, and he thrashed about, he wanted the monster off of him but at the same time not..! He arched off the wall and slammed back against it, fingers scraping against the wallpaper and peeling it off with his nails.

"Noooooooo…" he said desperately, and as his release was forced from him, he _moaned_.

(_Voldemort came up, looking smug, and kissed him, his tongue bringing an unpleasant salty substance into his mouth. Harry reached up and wrapped his arms around Voldemort's cool body, breaking the kiss and tilting his head back, allowing Voldemort to nip at the skin he found there_)

"Stop…stop…" Harry muttered, batting away Voldemort's imaginary face with his hand as his neck stung. "People will see…don't…"

(_"Good," murmured Voldemort. "Then they will not approach you."_)

"Stop!" Harry shouted, and he leapt to his feet (his legs haven given away when he came to release). His legs were shaky and he was temporarily blinded from the sudden movement, but he pressed on. "Stop it! I'm not joking!"

(_Voldemort pulled away, looking disappointed. "As you wish, pet. But I will see you tomorrow," he said firmly. He planted one last disgusting kiss on his lips before_)

Harry sighed and willed Voldemort out of his head, imagining pushing the madman out. He shakily started walking towards the bed when he realized that he now had a wet spot on his jeans. He made an undignified squeaking sound and dashed through the dark hall into the bathroom. He whipped off his jeans and started scrubbing at them under the running tap, cursing himself and Voldemort (but especially the latter). After an episode of frantic scrubbing, he remembered that he was a wizard, and cast a _Scourgify_ on his jeans, following with a Drying Charm. He swallowed, and pulled them back on, after cleaning and drying his underwear. He straightened up and caught sight of his sweaty, guilt-ridden face in the mirror. Several darkening marks on his neck stood out against his tanned skin. Harry couldn't help his grimace and hesitantly poked at one with a finger. It didn't budge, or do anything extraordinary. He pressed his lips together and rubbed at it, not knowing any spells to cover up or hide. He groaned miserably and decided to go down to the library to research such spells.

(_Who are you? Hermione?_) the voice in his head demanded, sounding like Ron. He ignored the voice, and went out of the portraits, hunching forward and lifting his shoulders. He knew he looked suspicious, but he didn't want anyone seeing his neck. He soon arrived at the library, but was surprised by the sight of Claudius, who was browsing the shelves with a frown on his face. At the sound of the doors closing, his head snapped in Harry's direction, wand appearing in his hand. Upon seeing his new student, he calmed and his wand disappeared back into his sleeve, though his dark eyes did not leave Harry's strangely positioned body.

Harry nodded politely and turned, stiffly walking off. He zipped behind a shelf and deflated at the sight of all the books towering over him, waiting to be pulled down and examined. He scanned them carefully, and, after a few moments, reluctantly pulled down _A Witch's Guide to Beauty_. He looked around him before flipping it open.

(_Lengthen your lashes! Get rid of unsightly hairs! Make your breasts bigger!_)

"Hmm," murmured Harry, as he examined the diagram in which the wand movement was correctly shown and the drawn breasts grew bigger. Underneath was a picture of a smiling girl wearing a poorly fitting bra, about to demonstrate the spell, who shrieked upon seeing Harry and attempted to cover her chest with her hands. He couldn't help his chuckle and flipped back to the table of contents.

(_Get rid of zits! Perfect your manicure! Hide blemishes!_)

He turned to the appropriate number and peered at the page. Again, there was a diagram, showing a different wand movement and a spot disappearing. Another smiling girl was shown, though the shot was only of her face and she only looked at Harry strangely before doing the spell and having a dark spot on her cheek disappear.

"Just what I need," Harry murmured, and set the book down on a nearby table, taking out his wand and practicing the movement a few times. He tapped the spell in the book to get its pronunciation.

"_Siflu!_" the book said in a cheery, high-pitched girl's voice. Harry started and glanced around him, sure that Pince would suddenly jump out from behind one of the shelves and demand that he take his noise elsewhere. Instead, he saw Claudius, who was leaning out from where he was stationed and eyeing him suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. Harry chuckled nervously and muttered the spell, pointing his wand at his neck. Something settled against his skin. He couldn't see it, but he hoped that Voldemort's mark was hidden. Sliding the book back into its place, he went off and wandered the shelves for a bit. Bright golden letters on a spine caught his eye.

(_Wizarding Law_)

He stared at it for a while. He wondered if Dumbledore would let him be there for their trials, then he shook his head. He turned and watched his tutor peer into a book disapprovingly and scratch at his chin. Harry approached him.

"Sir? Are you busy?"

"Don't you see that I'm busy?" came the silky response.

"Well, er, I was wondering if you knew anything about Wizarding law, sir."

Claudius gave him a look, as if he had been offended, before returning his gaze to his book. "Any self-respecting wizard will know at least _something_ about law."

Harry shifted. Were wizards' laws similar to Muggles'? If it was illegal to steal here, then he did know _something_ at least. "I mean…my friends are going on trial tomorrow…because they were trying to defend me from Aurors…"

"Did they intend to kill you or otherwise cause you harm?"

"The Aurors? Well…they wanted to put me in a holding cell, though I didn't…do anything."

"And you attacked them because they wished to put you in a holding cell, though you didn't do…anything?"

"No, no, I didn't attack them. Voldemort pos—"

"Do not!" Claudius snapped, suddenly looking at him sharply. "Do not say his name!"

Harry looked at him curiously and their eyes met in a contest. Claudius snorted and looked away, as if to say he didn't have time to fight with a _boy_.

"Anyway," Harry said, eyes on his tutor's hunched back, "I was possessed and started attacking Aurors, and Ron and Ginny…helped me."

"They'll probably be put away then, for obstruction of justice or whatnot."

"Obstruction..? But! They—"

"Prevented the Aurors from doing their jobs. They had no business interfering."

Harry stared at him, horrified. "And…what'll happen to them?"

Claudius shrugged. "I don't know."

Harry stared at him for a moment, but his tutor didn't look at him. "Alright," he finally managed to say. "Thank you, sir." Claudius didn't react to that either, other than a stiff nod, and Harry slunk away. He opened the library's door and nearly crashed into a black-clad chest. He looked up and his eyes reflexively widened in horror as he and Snape eyed each other.

"Don't you know it's rude to stand gawking in the middle of a doorway, Potter?" Snape sneered, and though Harry stepped back, he was still roughly brushed aside. Snape stepped further into the library, freezing as he caught sight of Claudius. His lips pressed together into a white line.

"_Prince_," he murmured, with enough venom behind it to make Harry almost jealous.

Claudius turned quickly, as if startled at the sound of his name. "Hello Severus," he finally replied coolly, though there was a hint of disdain in it.

Snape's fists clenched. Claudius stared back calmly. Harry glanced back and forth between the two men, wondering what was going on. Snape suddenly whirled around and stormed out of the library, roughly shoving Harry out of the way. Claudius's eyes slid over to Harry's form, before returning to his book.

"What are you still doing here, Potter?" he murmured, casually flicking a page. Harry stared at his back before turning out of the library much like Snape had.

Harry woke up abruptly, his body lax and his muscles tingling in anticipation. He had tossed and turned most of the night, unable to keep his thoughts off Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley. His thoughts had briefly wandered to Claudius and Snape, but dismissed it as no one liking Snape, and he had told himself that he had more important things to worry about.

He glanced at his wristwatch. 5:38. His hand flopped back down onto the bed. He stared unseeingly at the ceiling. The ceiling stared back. He sighed and turned over onto his side. His mind wandered, though he firmly kept his thoughts away from anything that had to do with Voldemort. He thought about Potions this year, how wonderful it'd be to actually learn something, he thought about Transfiguration, how difficult it'd be to become an Animagus, he thought back to his memory of his first class with McGonagall, when she transformed out of her feline form and shocked them all. He thought about Charms class, how he'd miss Flitwick's cheerfulness. He thought briefly about Trelawney, but he cut off that thought quickly, not wanting to waste time and energy. That line of thought brought him to other things he didn't want to think about either, and he forced it to disappear as quickly as it had come.

He had passed his day running various errands for the Professors. Simple, but physically demanding tasks, such as fetching books for McGonagall, or harvest specific plants for Sprout. Professor McGonagall had subtly mentioned to Snape that Harry was rather idle, and Snape had promptly responded that perhaps he should think to open a potion book up, though thankfully Potter wasn't under his tutelage anymore, and he couldn't care less if his cousin got blown up.

(_And I thought having Dudley for a cousin was bad_)

He snickered when he had thought about it, imagining Snape testing potions on Claudius. He had passed some time with Hagrid, chatting about nothing in particular and drinking tea, Fang drooling in his lap. He had politely taken one of the half-giant's rock candies but it hadn't come near his mouth. He had tried breaking a small piece off, but he might as well have tried to ask Snape to give him a smile. Hagrid, meanwhile, had cheerfully taken one himself and bitten into it happily, his chewing sounding like thunder.

He had left soon after, heading for the castle and enjoying the cool breeze, though it ruffled his hair and made it wilder than usual. As he neared the castle he spotted Snape, a dark look on his face, standing in the doorway.

"Potter," he spat, as soon as he was close enough. "Go change into your robes."

Harry stopped and gave him a look. "What?"

"You heard me the first time, Potter."

"I did. But why?"

"You needn't know why. Just know that if you are not back here in ten minutes, dressed in proper uniform, I shall not be responsible for what happens to you."

Snape stepped out of the way, his eyes dark and menacing. Harry stepped through the doors, feeling Snape's glare on his back, and went to his quarters.

Ten minutes later saw him walking down one of the corridors that led to the main doors. Snape hadn't moved, and neither had his scowl.

"Come along then," he snapped, and promptly turned around and strode down the steps and across the grounds towards the gates. Harry hastened after him.

"Sir? Where we were going?"

"To the train station."

"The train station?" Harry repeated, confused. "Why are we going to the train station?"

"You are denser than I had previously believed, Potter, if you do not know what one does at a train station, particularly on this day and at this hour."

"But…I don't need to take the Hogwarts Express, I'm already _at_ Hogwarts."

"Do you think I elected to be the one to take you there? My time is more precious than yours, Potter. But Professor Dumbledore insisted that you take the train and arrive with the other students, and that I be the one to take you to King's Cross."

"But..! What about the trials?"

"I won't bother pretending to know what you're blathering about, Potter."

"My friends' trials! They were defending me from Aurors…"

"Spare me the details of your summer, Potter. I have no wish to know."

Harry couldn't help his huff, but Snape ignored that easily and pushed the Hogwarts gates open. They both stepped out and Snape's hand was immediately gripping his elbow. Before Harry had a chance to say something, he was suddenly being compressed, as if he were being squeezed into a straw. His lungs were being crushed by his ribs. His eyes were bulging out of his head. He was slowly suffocating and he couldn't move. Finally, when it felt as if he could hold out no longer, when it felt as if he would finally pass out, the pressure disappeared in an instant and he doubled over, desperately filling his lungs with air. He panted for breath, rubbing his chest, and somehow found the energy to shoot Snape a nasty look. The greasy bat glared coolly right back.

"Couldn't you have warned me?" Harry snapped, straightening up stiffly.

"I could have," came the scathing reply. "But I chose not to."

Harry rolled his eyes and looked away. A scarlet engine gleamed in the last of the summer's rays in front of him. Butterflies multiplied in his belly. Carefree good-byes and chatter reached his ears.

"Come on, Potter, don't want the train to leave without you, now do we?" Snape took hold of his elbow again, steering him towards the nearest train door. The background noise was slowly dying down, as the students and their families noticed just who was in front of them, preparing to get on the Hogwarts Express. By the time he was in front of the door, you could have heard a pin drop. It was suddenly very hot. He swallowed uncomfortably and tugged at his collar. "Go on, Potter. Surely you feel much better with all the attention?" He was pushed roughly towards the door. To catch his balance, he had to lift his foot onto the steps. He shot one last glare at Snape, though it lost some of its edge when he noticed all the stormy faces behind his ex-teacher. His breath hitched as a hundred glares were directed at him at once. He swallowed once, before firmly turning around and getting on the train. He stiffly went down the length of the car, peering into compartments, turning away, feeling stung when the surprise of seeing him vanished from their accusing eyes. He went to the next car, and the next before spotting Malfoy, sitting in a compartment by himself, staring blankly at the wall, swaying with the train's movements.

Harry stared at the blond for a moment before squashing down his paranoia and forcing himself to continue walking. Soon after, he spotted Neville and Luna going into a compartment and made to follow them, but an unfamiliar voice stopped him.

"Harry?" he turned around and saw a young fourth year girl with black hair and brown eyes, smiling at him. "I'm Romilda Vane," she said boldly. "Why don't you join me and my friends in our compartment? _We_ don't think you've gone dark." Her voice dropped slightly, as if that would make her offer more appealing. A couple of heads popped out and, upon seeing him, giggled.

"Er, no thanks, I think I'm going to sit over there, with them," he said, smiling awkwardly, pointing towards Neville and Luna, who were now looking in their direction.

Romilda looked put off. "Are you sure? You don't _have to_, you know." She batted her eyelashes twice.

Harry frowned at her. "They're my friends," he said firmly. "And I'm going to go sit with them."

Romilda and the two other girls looked deeply surprised and Harry turned and marched towards Neville and Luna, who were still looking at him.

"Are you sure, Harry?" Neville asked, looking sheepish but trying to hide it. "I don't know…we are kind of uncool…"

"That's nonsense. You _are_ my friends, aren't you?" Harry demanded.

"I like to think so," Luna said airily. "But people expect you to have cooler friends than us."

"You are cool. None of them were at the Ministry. They didn't fight with me."

Luna smiled. "That's a very nice thing to say." And she swept past Neville and sat down in the compartment. Neville gave Harry a sheepish smile and followed. Luna had the newest edition of _The Quibbler_ in her hands and was opening it upside down.

"How'd you do on your OWLs, Neville?" Harry asked.

"I did alright. Gran was surprised I passed so many, but she was really pleased too. But I'm not sure I'll be able to take NEWT level Transfiguration since I only got an A."

"If you don't, maybe you could get yourself a tutor," Harry said. He gave a self depreciating grin. "Like me."

Neville looked surprised. "You've got a tutor?"

"Yeah. Dumbledore's worried about my safety…stray spells flying about in class and all that."

The taller boy frowned. "Then why are you taking the train? They surely could have Floo-ed you in, or had someone Apparate you to the castle."

"I was already _at_ the castle. Snape didn't tell me why Dumbledore wanted me to take the train."

Neville shuddered. "_Snape_ brought you here? Poor you," he murmured, seeming sincerely pitying, and Harry was reminded of the other boy's apparent fear of the Potions Master. "And you've really got a tutor? Is he nice?"

"He's Snape's cousin."

Neville's eyes became saucers. "_What_? You're kidding!"

Harry grinned openly. "I'm not. But it's OK. He doesn't hate my guts yet." That might soon change, he thought to himself, when Claudius saw what a menace he was in potions. Though his lack of skill could be attributed to the lack of actual _teaching_ Snape had done, because writing instructions on the board and letting them have access to the ingredients cabinet was not what Harry'd call _teaching_. The other subjects, he knew he'd have no problem with, more or less.

"And…you don't mind? Having a tutor?"

"Well, not yet. We haven't had any lessons yet, but he seems to be like McGonagall, the no nonsense type of person. Hermione was practically jumping out of her seat when I told her." At the mention of his friend's name, Harry's heart clenched painfully, and it must have shown on his face because Neville looked immediately concerned.

"Sorry about them, Harry. I…I heard about them from Susan."

"It'll be OK. Dumbledore's supposed to be there, defending them, so it'll be alright."

"What happened? I've heard rumors… and Seamus offered me the _Daily Prophet_, but I didn't want to read that rubbish."

Harry sighed, letting himself fall back against his seat. He debated for a moment on how much he should tell him. "You know…all the things they're saying about me having gone off to Voldemort?" Neville nodded, his eyes hardening a fraction. "Well, Neville…" he said, uncomfortable but wanting to be honest. "It's true. I did."

Neville became very stiff and watched Harry fidget, with a calculating gleam that Harry didn't know he knew how to use. "What do you mean, you _did_, Harry?"

Harry swallowed. "I did go over to Voldemort," he said very quietly. Neville's eyebrows creased deeply in a frown, cold confusion invading his features.

"You…" he said slowly, frown not leaving his face, "went over to Voldemort." Harry nodded, breath held. He suddenly realized what this meant to Neville; his parent's having been tortured to insanity by Voldemort's most faithful followers, and Harry, one of the shining beacons of Dumbledore's Light side, had crossed over.

(_It will upset the Light side to see me with you_) he had told Voldemort. (_And that couldn't be truer._)

"Why?" came the demand.

"It was a mistake," Harry said firmly. "I was angry at Dumbledore…and myself. And I did something stupid. I'm sorry."

"Stupid?" Neville repeated, looking as if Harry had just insulted his mother a hundred times. "_Stupid_? Stupid is watering a cactus every day. Stupid is asking Snape to be civil to me. _That's_ stupid. But _joining Voldemort's ranks_..? I…I…" He shook his head, as if he were trying to ward away the foul idea, his eyes glowing with fire and burning holes in the door. His fists clenched in his lap, knuckles white. "I don't know what I should say."

"Say whatever you need, Neville," Luna said softly, her large eyes peering over her _Quibbler_.

Neville was still shaking his head, but his eyes were now fixed on Harry's green ones like bright, blue lasers. "I can't believe it," he finally murmured, but Harry heard it clearly, even with the noises coming from the train and the other students. The sting of his words also hit him clearly, but Harry told himself that he could take it, and he _deserved_ to take it. Neville rose fluidly, eyes still piercing into Harry and moved to leave, but the compartment door slid open and their eyes moved to look at the intruder. A nervous looking third year Hufflepuff boy looked back at them.

"I'm supposed to give this to Neville Longbottom," he said, and he held out an envelope, his eyes turning into saucers as he spotted Harry. His hand started trembling, the envelope shaking like a leaf. Neville crossly snatched it from the boy and he flinched, before returning his fearful gaze to Harry. They watched each other for a moment, Harry staring impassively, and the boy looking as if he might wet himself, before the Hufflepuff finally squeaked and fled.

Harry sighed and Neville shot him a look before irritably ripping the envelope open with more force than necessary. He shook the folded parchment open and read it quickly, eyes narrowed.

"What is it?" Luna piped up, not setting down the _Quibbler_.

"An invitation for lunch," Neville grumbled, the parchment crumpling in his large hand. "From who I guess is the new Defense teacher."

"Oh?" she tilted her head to the side. "Who is it?"

Neville tugged the paper straight, nearly ripping it in the process. "It's signed Horace Slughorn," he said, before wrenching the door open.

"I'm sorry, Neville," Harry suddenly shouted. The other Gryffindor ignored him and nearly crashed into a boy that Harry recognized as Blaise Zabini, a Slytherin in their year who was sometimes around Malfoy. They sneered at each other before Neville stormed away, the black boy following.

"I wonder what kind of food they'll be having," Luna said, finally tucking her paper back into the bag. "And I wonder when the food trolley is coming." She got up and stuck her head out into the hallway. "It's still a long ways down." She turned to face Harry, who was staring out the window. "Don't worry, Harry, he'll come around eventually."

Harry frowned, but didn't look at her. "I don't think so. I wouldn't blame him if he never spoke to me again."

"I wouldn't either. It really _was_ beyond stupid, what you did," she said airily, going back to her seat.

Harry couldn't help the eye roll. "Thanks, Luna."

"But you are Neville's friend, and he's heard how sorry you are. I think he'll forgive you."

"I hope so. It'd be nice to have more than one friendly face in the crowd."

"And I'm sure Ron and Hermione and Ginny will be fine too."

"I hope so." And with that, Luna changed the subject to cheerier things: Crumple-Horned Snorcacks. She chatted knowledgably about them, as well as other creatures that Harry had only heard of from her, and hypothesized that Voldemort's head was filled with Nargles. She bought a few snacks (Harry having left his money in his trunk) and they continued talking. Near the end of the trip, Neville came back, looking even more disgruntled than he had when he had left.

"Oh Neville! How was it?" Luna asked.

"The only students that were there were ones that were connected to important people. Slughorn wouldn't stop asking me about my parents." If possible, Neville's expression soured even more. "And then he asked about you," he continued, eyes flicking towards Harry. "Wanted to know if I knew if you'd actually joined Voldemort."

Harry blinked. "And what did you say?"

"I told him that we'd have to see." He sat down. "If you were at Hogwarts, probably not, because Dumbledore wouldn't stand for such a thing."

Harry looked away uncomfortably and spotted Blaise Zabini walking past the compartment. Adrenaline shot through him. Zabini might be going to Malfoy's compartment. Malfoy might talk. Might confess his Death Eater status. Might confess what he was doing in Borgin and Burke's during the summer. Harry rose and patted his pocket, making sure the Invisibility Cloak, taken in case Snape tried to make him do something unsavory, was still there.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Neville asked.

"Open the door and peek out," Harry said, pulling the Cloak over himself.

"What?"

"Please! Just do it!" Neville obeyed, albeit grudgingly, and Harry snuck out. He ran off in the direction Zabini had gone. He spotted him entering the last compartment and ran to it, but not quickly enough to slip in unnoticed. He managed to stick his foot in the doorway as Blaise was closing it.

"What's wrong with this door?" grunted Blaise, slamming the door repeatedly on Harry's foot. Harry took hold of the handle and wrenched the door open, sending Blaise into Goyle's lap, who growled and unceremoniously dumped the black boy on the floor. Harry took this opportunity to slip into the compartment, using Zabini's empty seat and hauling himself up, Goyle and Zabini still growling at each other, and Malfoy and Pansy watching coolly from the side. To his horror, he felt the Cloak slip briefly off his foot, and his horror increased tenfold when he noticed Malfoy's eyes watching his trainer as it slipped onto the luggage rack and disappeared out of sight once again. Malfoy's eyes lingered briefly but soon laid his head down on Pansy's lap, and she gleefully started stroking his silky hair, smiling as if anyone would have given their arm and leg to be in her place. Blaise threw himself down onto the seat across from her sulkily, next to Crabbe, and Harry curled up as comfortably as he could, checking and double-checking that he was completely covered.

"So," drawled Malfoy. "What did Slughorn want?"

"He invited me to his _Slug Club_. They've got gatherings during the school year."

"Slug Club?" Pansy asked, snorting.

"Apparently it used to be a big thing. Most of the members got to be in high up places."

"Who else was there?" Malfoy asked.

"Marcus Belby, from Ravenclaw, Cormac McLaggen, from Gryffindor, and _Longbottom_."

"Longbottom?" Malfoy repeated, looking affronted. "That _squib_?Are you joking?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" replied Zabini irritably.

"How did Longbottom get an invitation to the Slug Club? And why didn't I get one?" Malfoy paused. "And Potter? Precious Potter wasn't invited?"

"I think he only wanted students that are connected to influential people. And he doesn't seem to be interested in Death Eaters," he added when Malfoy opened his mouth to butt in. "Even the ones that would never be marked."

Draco snorted. "Whatever," he said, looking stoic once again. "I don't care what some middle-aged potions professor has to think of me. I probably won't be here next year anyway."

"_What_?" shrieked Pansy, ceasing grooming Malfoy at once. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair coolly. "What do you mean that you probably won't be here next year? What about your NEWTs?"

"I'll be onto…bigger… better things. The Dark Lord won't care how many NEWTs you've got. It's a question of devotion."

Zabini snorted scornfully. "What use could the Dark Lord have for an unqualified wizard?"

"Not all tasks require qualifications, Blaise," Malfoy said smoothly. His head tilted towards the window. "I can see the station from here. We ought to get ready." They all got up, at different paces, Pansy smoothing her robes, Zabini rising smoothly, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering to their feet, and Malfoy hunched over the window. Harry watched him. The blond was motionless other than the occasional drum of his fingers against the glass. Crabbe reached up and pulled his trunk down from the luggage rack, knocking it into Harry's head. Pain exploded in his mind and he couldn't prevent a cry from escaping his mouth. Through watering eyes, he saw that Malfoy's head had snapped in his direction and he was frowning at the luggage rack. Harry stuffed a fist in his mouth and Malfoy only stared for a few more moments before shrugging and returning his gaze to the window.

The train was slowing down now, and the compartment was silent. The only noises came from the train's wheels squealing against the tracks, and the chatter of the other students as they waited in the hallway and prepared to get off. The train finally slowed to a stop, and students filed off. Finally the hallways were empty and the Slytherins filed out. Malfoy paused, and pulled his bag down from the opposite rack. Pansy stayed in the doorway, her hand held out as if she were hoping that Malfoy would hold it.

"Draco?"

"Go on. I'll only be a minute." She nodded and left. Malfoy grasped the handle and slid the door shut. Harry didn't dare breathe. Malfoy looked down, and suddenly he had turned around, his wand tip lighting up with a _Petrificus Totalus_. Harry's arms snapped to his sides and he was forced to straighten out, his head knocking into the wall and his feet knocking into the opposite wall, and he fell to the floor. Malfoy's eyes were alight with satisfaction as he leaned down and pulled the Invisibility Cloak off Harry's stiff body.

"I knew I heard something when Crabbe pulled down his trunk. And I thought I had seen something in the air when Blaise came in…" He suddenly gave a nasty smirk. "You just can't keep yourself out of trouble, can you, Potter?" He straightened up suddenly and stomped on Harry's nose. The cartilage broke and a strange, strangled noise came from his throat. "I hate you, Potter," Malfoy suddenly hissed, grey eyes cold as steel. "Enjoy your ride back to London." He grabbed the Cloak and, using his wand, floated it over Harry's body, covering him perfectly. Malfoy stepped on his chest and pulled down the blinds on the window, before giving him one last filthy look and leaving.

Cold took over Harry's body. The blood trickling down from his nose and the warm floor did nothing to dispel it.

* * *

**A/N:** You guys thought I was dead didn't you? Well, no, I'm still here. I was just really busy...

(OK, the first two weeks I was killing off Sims, and the rest of the time, I was enjoying the sunshine and general summer-ness. Lately, I've been pondering how much of HBP I'll need to include, and other stories. I was wondering if any of you are Catholic or are studying politics or suffer from phototoxicity. I've got plans for various fics that have these subjects in them...if you're interested in helping me, drop me a message or a review!)

Reviews make the world go round! ^_^


	19. Hogsmeade Train Station

**WARNINGS:** none

* * *

Harry was panicking. His nose hurt and he could barely breathe. Cursing Malfoy and cursing himself, his eyes dulled as he tried to concentrate on his magic to free himself from the foreign magic holding him stiffly in position. He wondered if, since Voldemort claimed they shared magic

(_like in a marriage bond, eurgh_)

, if it was possible to draw magic from him and use it to break the _Petrificus_. He wondered if he needed extra magic. He could feel his own if he really tried; it thrummed inside him, circulating in his body as naturally as the blood in his veins, and, trying harder, he felt a foreign magic coating his body, feeling something like oil against sand, completely unpleasant. Concentrating on his head now, he could feel the bond he shared with Voldemort, quivering from the effects of Dark magic.

He paused. How was he supposed to do this? He couldn't move to reach his wand, and wandless magic was hard…really hard to do. He only did things accidentally when he was angry…like blowing Aunt Marge up, or—

(_Hmm. Angry._)

Could he make himself angry enough to use wandless magic and break the spell? How much magic would that need? And what if it did something to the train?

(_What if I don't do it in time and end up back in London?_)

He closed his eyes and tried to think about Malfoy stomping on his face. He thought about Voldemort forcing blowjobs on him,

(something stirred inside him, but he squashed it down)

he thought about Sirius falling through the Veil, he thought about Dumbledore keeping the prophecy from him, leaving him on the Dursleys' doorstep, secretly feeding him nutrition potions, knowing what had happened and doing nothing about it…

The sound of rattling metal spoiled his concentration and he opened his eyes to see the compartment shaking slightly. He tried wiggling and breathed out his disappointment, but quickly tried to bring out his anger again.

(_Malfoy, Sirius, Pettigrew, Voldemort, Dumbledore, Dursleys, _Dumbledore)

The anger soon returned (_had it even gone away?_). He took quick, shallow breaths, the Body-Binding spell not allowing for much more. His magic prickled his skin, but the feeling of Malfoy's against him, holding him in place against his will, did not go away. The luggage rack started rattling again, but Harry tried not to pay attention to it.

(_Come on come on_)

The oil fizzed against him. An air bubble swelled against his trousers and popped, suddenly freeing his knee. His joy at making progress nearly made another bubble die down. He quickly re-concentrated on _Dumbledore_, and several bubbles inflated and popped.

A sudden jolt jerked his eyes back open. A strange thunk. The train swayed ever so slightly. Cold panic re-seized his body. The train was leaving! The train was leaving Hogsmeade station and he was going with it. He desperately tried to throw off the spell once and for all, but he hadn't managed to lift it enough through wandless magic. He frantically tried to bring his memories back up, tried to get the anger flowing again, but the agitation was too much.

The wheels clunked over the rails. Harry was immobile. The compartment door slid open, the sound abrupt against the sounds of the train. Harry's eyes widened marginally, the most the spell would allow. A figure, heavily clad in black despite the enduring summer heat, towered above him from the doorway, his hair swaying with the train's movements. His lips curled in a sneer.

Snape squatted down and grasped the Invisibility Cloak, which slid off Harry in a caress and trailed on the floor as Snape held it. If it was possible, Harry panicked even more internally.

(_Snape's got the Cloak Snape's got _my dad's_ cloak_)

"You just couldn't stay out of trouble, could you?" A wand was brandished in his direction, and "_Finite Incantantem_" was uttered in a low voice. Immediately, he felt that he was able to move his limbs again. He stiffly sat up, gingerly touching his nose.

"I would prefer it if you hurried, Potter. It is disagreeable Apparating from a moving vehicle." Snape had already turned and was marching down the train. Harry hastened to follow, but it was too late; the train had already pulled out of the station and was steadily picking up speed. Snape was at the door, the occasional light throwing his sallow face into sharp relief: his nose nearly hitting the window glass with the train's swaying movement, his lips thinner than usual, and his eyes gleaming darkly. He turned around sharply and grabbed hold of Harry's arm.

"Ready?" he said, voice barely audible over the clunks of the wheels against the rails. Harry only had enough time to hastily draw a breath –as if that would save him- before he was once again being squeezed through a straw. He felt as if there was even more pressure on his body than the first time, though it vanished much quicker; he only coughed a few times and stumbled against the wall of Hogsmeade station in an attempt to steady himself and catch his breath. Snape stood a few feet away, eyeing him coolly.

After a moment, he pushed himself off the wall. Snape was already walking away. Soon they were out of the station and nearing Hogwarts' gates. Harry squinted but could not make out any sign of thestrals or carriages. He glanced at Snape but the professor's face was as shuttered as ever. As they paused in front of the gates, Snape took out his wand and tapped the metal once, a loud clicking sound immediately audible, similar to the sound of a lock opening, and one metal gate slowly opened soundlessly, just wide enough for a person to pass. Snape brushed past Harry and entered the grounds, sweeping off into the dark. Harry copied his movements and as soon as he was in, the gates shut behind him, clicking again, this time resembling a lock securing. They walked in silence, Snape in front and not bothering to look back to see whether or not his ex-pupil was following. Meanwhile, Harry fidgeted, the cold sweat not having left him. Snape hadn't offered to fix his nose, not that he had expected that from _Snape_ of all people, but it throbbed painfully and only added to the nervousness coiling in his belly. The feast had probably already began, and not only would he have to go and eat with people that most likely wanted him dead, but he also had no Ron or Hermione or Ginny there, not because they didn't want to be there, but because he was unlucky enough to have a connection to Voldemort in his head and was too weak to prevent the bastard from taking over his body and blasting Aurors to kingdom come.

He let out a breath and folded his hands into fists.

(_Remember this. Remember what Voldemort's done to you. Killing your parents, killing Sirius, trying to kill my friends, trying to kill you so many times…_)

Something shifted in his mind.

(_I will never yield to him again. YOU HEAR ME, VOLDEMORT? I KNOW YOU'RE LISTENING. I WILL FIGHT YOU WITH EVERYTHING I HAVE, AND I SWEAR IF YOU EVER TRY TO TAKE MY BODY OVER AGAIN I'LL MAKE YOU REGRET IT_)

Harry continued walking. There was no amused chuckle or any other response from his link. Good. He didn't really care if Voldemort chose fit to respond to him or not. It was himself he needed to concentrate on. Concentrate on his studies, concentrate on Occlumency, concentrate on defeating Voldemort once and for all…

There was the sound of a door opening. He looked up, surprised to see that they were already at Hogwarts' front doors. Snape pushed the enormous door open, enough to let a sliver of light out onto the stone they were standing on, just enough to let himself through. Harry followed. They went up the stairs. It was silent, but as they neared the Great Hall, Harry could hear the chatter of some 400 students. Finally, the large double doors were in front of him. Snape pushed them both open, and Harry winced as everyone's attention was turned towards them. 400 pairs of eyes settled on him and it was silent enough that Harry was sure that Dumbledore could hear his heart pounding against his ribcage from the other side of the Hall.

"After you, Potter," Snape said silkily, holding an arm out almost mockingly. Harry only gave him a brief look before steeling himself and walking towards the Gryffindor table. The whispers started up, louder with every step he took, until there were shouts as he was moving to slide himself on the bench. The Gryffindors remained immobile for a moment, the younger ones talking amongst themselves with a frenzy, before turning their heads away as if they were embarrassed. Only a few of them gave him outright hateful looks, he noticed thankfully.

It took a few moments for Dumbledore to rise and for the attention focused on Harry came to focus on the Headmaster instead.

"Please," Dumbledore called, and the last ones speaking went quiet. "As you have surely noticed, Harry Potter shall stay in Hogwarts." There were several cries of outrage. Dumbledore held his hand up for silence and continued. "Undoubtedly you are aware of the rumors circulating about Mr. Potter and Voldemort." Tension spiked at the mention of the name, but the students stayed silent. "It is not my business to reveal to you whether or not these rumors are true, but I insist that Mr. Potter be treated as any other student. It is not amongst ourselves that we should be fighting." He looked weary and seemed to be looking particularly between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables. "And may I introduce Claudius Prince, Mr. Potter's tutor." Claudius stood up, his face shuttered, to light clapping. The rest of the students took this time to whisper more amongst themselves. "Mr. Prince is to be addressed with the same respect as the other professors at my sides." Dumbledore surveyed his students for a moment. "That is all." He sat back down and the voices started back up immediately as the benches scraped against the stone floor and the students started filing out of the Hall. Harry followed, but broke off from the Gryffindors to follow the Hufflepuffs, who took one look at him and huddled closer to each other, as if he would suddenly go on a mad rampage. But he simply gritted his teeth and ignored them. They made a turn to go to their dormitories and Harry continued straight, towards the kitchens. He tickled the pear until it stopped its squirming and turned into a handle. He grasped it and stepped inside, his presence pausing the house elves activity briefly. Dobby appeared out of nowhere, his tower of hats suddenly obscuring Harry's vision momentarily as his knees were hugged.

"Harry Potter is back so soon to see Dobby!" the elf cried, and finally moved back. His eyes shone. "Was Harry Potter sir enjoying the feast?"

"Well, erm, I arrived a bit late, you see, that's why I'm down here—"

"So you has not eaten?"

"Well, no—"

Dobby snapped his fingers and a large plate of chicken legs appeared on the nearest table. He snapped his fingers a few more times and each time, another plate of food appeared.

Harry looked at it all in wonder. "This is all leftovers?"

"Yes."

"What do you usually do with it all?"

"We is eating it ourselves, Harry Potter sir. Or if there is too much sometimes we is giving it to the animals of the Forest."

Harry seated himself and spooned himself some mashed potatoes. "This is excellent," he said without exaggeration, after having taken several bites.

"Harry Potter sir?" Dobby asked hesitantly. He hummed in reply, mouth full. "What happened to you face?"

He turned towards the elf and swallowed his mouthful. "Erm…it broke."

Dobby peered at him for a moment. "Would Harry Potter like for Dobby to fix Harry Potter's nose?"

"Can you?" he asked, then mentally smacked himself.

"Of course." Dobby gave a casual wave of his hand and Harry's nose snapped back into place painfully, forcing a strangled sound from his throat. Another wave of the house elf's hand had the blood disappear from his face and fingers. Harry gingerly touched his face and was pleased to note that it didn't hurt nearly as much as before.

"Thanks, Dobby." The elf responded with a beaming smile, before being called by another elf and hurrying away, his hats swaying dangerously, but not before saying an enthusiastic good-bye. Harry ate slowly, partly to savor his dinner, partly to put off going to his new, unfamiliar rooms. And seeing Claudius. Maybe Snape had paid his cousin to poison him in his sleep. Harry shook the thought from his head. Snape would want to do it himself, for the satisfaction.

(_Like Voldemort_)

The name brought hate with it and he nearly crushed the treacle tart he was preparing to feed himself.

Eyeing the dessert again, he sighed and put it down. He didn't feel like eating anymore.

* * *

**A/N:** I hate real life. And inspiration that comes to other people but not me. It still isn't coming, but I just watched HP3, and that's got me…thinking.

A big thank you to **Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog**and **Emriel **for responding to my questions. Got me thinking (more) and that particular story is no longer just ideas in my head, but now ideas on paper! Haha. But don't worry, I'll put your time and effort and my ideas together in… a bit of time.

That's all for now. See you in May or something. Happy New Year!


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